


Saguaro Ladies with Hats

by laliquey



Series: Cactus Stories [3]
Category: True Detective
Genre: Alaska, Drug Abuse, F/M, Kid Fic, May/December Relationship, Parenthood, Post-Canon, Strained Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 05:33:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 33,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5363213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laliquey/pseuds/laliquey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rust gets stuck in Alaska with a kid of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. in September

**Author's Note:**

> Fwiw I headcanon this kid looking a lot like the little boy in the Subaru Legacy commercial (but younger & smaller).

Jesse's conception can't technically be classified as an accident.

Spur-of-the-moment, though?

Yes.

NOMA had Ensor's _Christ's Entry Into Brussels in 1889_ on loan from the Getty and Rust drove over to New Orleans for the afternoon to pick up Audrey and see it.

They periodically met up for similar things that no one else cared about, casting a friendship that Maggie frowned upon while Marty found it harmless, even cute. Their dalliances outside of parental supervision, whether in the middle of the day or carefully orchestrated at night, were turn-on-a-dime type affairs that went one of two ways: light, respectable interaction or straightforward fucks that left them both twitching into the next day.

The moment Rust stepped into her crumbling studio on Royal, he figured they were headed for the latter. She was in a tiny white tank top, braless with color-smudged arms. "Sorry," she said with a hurried cheek kiss hello. A quart mason jar held a slurry of soaking paintbrushes that she was squeezing and combing clean. "Give me five minutes."

"No rush."

The scent of slow-drying oils and mineral spirits folded him further into her space; he looked up at the towering canvas of the skeleton of a pumpjack oil rig made with thousands of swipes of a palette knife, in all the bright colors a real one wasn't. "I like it."

"Thanks. It's for a conference room at Shell Oil."

"Shell Oil in Houston?"

"Uh huh."

He nodded, impressed. He'd watched her waver between starving artist and real money for years, though it seemed like the real money was getting closer together. It seemed inevitable that shedding his sorry ass would be another of her measurable successes and he'd started to consider every time their likely last.

Might as well try for one more. Her blue cardigan was draped across a chair back and he tossed it up into a dusty transom so she'd have to stay like she was.

"What the hell'd you do that for?" she said, but the flush in her cheeks wasn't from anger.

They play-argued a few minutes and before Rust knew it _his_ shirt was up in the transom and they were on the drop cloth on the floor with Audrey dragging a soft, dry fan brush over his scars. Decades and drugs and drink may have turned some percentage of his memory to fog, but he couldn't remember having so much fun and affection compressed so tight with anyone else. And it was like that every goddamn time.

"It's been a while," she said, tickling his mouth with the brush. He was vaguely aware that Celexa had knocked her off the pill but neither of them had any backup. They even discussed it for a half a minute beforehand - _Just pull out,_ she'd said, but when the time came she was begging him not to stop and he didn't.

He would consider the why a million times. Wanted to blame programming or solvents in a badly ventilated room, but the truth was, it felt too good and she said don't stop and he hadn't wanted to.

After, they shared a cigarette and watched the smoke curl back on itself and float up to the cracked plaster ceiling. "Guess I'll take a Plan B tomorrow," Audrey said, and Rust was calm and strangely unsurprised to learn a few months later that she never did.

*

They walked down Main, late on purpose and uncharacteristically scared.

“We'll frame it like it's good news,” Audrey said. “It _is,_ sort of, but mom's gonna be livid. She's been messing with her haircolor so much lately you know she's not happy. I think she's gonna lose it.”

“I'm more worried about your dad.”

“Really? I think he'll be confused at first but then he'll be okay with it.”

“Maybe. But he's beat my ass over somethin' a lot less important than this.” It was probably a defense mechanism to keep it tolerable but he couldn't stop stating facts suffixed by little jokes. They walked past a bar that looked invitingly grim, and he stopped, thought, and turned around.

"Oh my God. Like you can drink your way out of this!"

"I figured you'd want a shot for courage," he said with mock innocence. "No? Guess I better have yours."

Audrey shook her head. "You're the actual worst."

The inside had just the kind of waxed nicotine patina he liked and they attracted the usual looks - three-fourths indifference and a more alert quarter weighing whether he was paying for it or just lucky. He surveyed their bottle inventory and she hooked an arm in his, stood a little taller and pushed her chest out for the benefit of the one-fourth staring at their backs. Faked confidence was the best accessory since cultured pearls.

The bartender sized them up looked Rust straight in the eye. "Whatever you order I'mma start drinking that."

Audrey gave a delicate snort while Rust nodded subtle thanks and ordered two big ones. The first was smooth as sanded oak. "Whatever happens, we'll go back to the house and have a nice night."

"We could also say fuck it and run off."

The second shot disappeared but burned on its descent. They'd talked this to death over the phone. They talked it out again over cheesy grits that morning and did everything but staple timelines and a pin-stuck map to the wall. "You serious?"

"I guess not. It's just nerves." She looked down at the dull brass bar rail. "It's probably all gonna be over in about five minutes. I can put up with anything for that long."

"That's what landed us in this predicament, if I recall." Laughter wasn't a reward he deserved but he got some, plus a little extra when he spun her in a sloppy inside turn on their way out. Their destination was only a block away but jelly-legs made it feel longer and she hesitated just outside.

Rust reached for the door handle and said, "Don't worry. The only person at that table with any power is you."

They'd arranged to meet Maggie and Marty in a brewpub Marty liked, with a convoluted story about why they'd show up together. It was half true; the historic old theater had a late matinee of silent movies backed up by the old in-floor pipe organ and it was the kind of thing Rust and Audrey might have gone to, if not for this.

They were already in place at a square four-top and looking mildly uncomfortable, as if they'd talked through all their material. “We were starting to worry about you," Marty said. "How's your old-timey picture show?”

“We didn't go,” Audrey said, and Rust reached for her hand as they sat down. They'd talked about this. Get it out of the way early. "There's something we have to tell you.”

Maggie seemed to know and blanched. “Oh my God.”

“We've kept it secret because we knew it'd upset you like it obviously is right now, but...we've sorta been seeing each other.”

Maggie looked ill while Marty was bright-faced, like some part of him thought they were on a hidden camera show. “As in _seeing each other_ seeing each other?”

“Yeah.”

“How long a' you been...I mean, I knew you two always got along, but...are you serious?”

“It's been a couple years," Rust said. "Off and on. Mostly on.”

"Excuse me, _years?"_

Their hands were clenched tight and clammy under the table. “I wanted to wait and tell you when I turn thirty,” Audrey said, and looked at the etched pub mirror behind her parents instead of directly at them. “Like by then you'd see me as more of a grownup and and you'd be less upset, but...” She murmured to Rust. “I can't even say it.”

"Want me to?"

"Please."

He swallowed hard. “Y'all are gonna be grandparents in September.”

“What!?”

“No...”

“But...how?” Marty spluttered.

“Pretty much the usual way."

No one laughed and Maggie came up for air. “You son of a bitch." Months of suspicion and anger clicked into place...she'd even confronted them both, only to be sung a litany of denial. "In Atlanta, at the gallery. I brought it up and you lied to my face."

It was all over her own face, that it was some elaborate revenge of his, though what happened back in '02 wasn't exactly an ace up anybody's sleeve. “Doesn't really matter now, does it?”

“Oh, I think it does. In fact, I think-”

“Maggie," Marty's voice rose in warning. "For the love of God do not make this about you.”

"Don't be such an ass, Marty. Of course it isn't."

Silence swallowed all four of them and Rust wondered if this should've happened in a letter so they could think it over in their own time. The place had about six other tables of people, presumably there for the hot wings and not living anything even close to this mess. He didn't usually envy people motivated by hot wings but right then he did.

A lot.

"You had me when you were my age, and you've always wanted grandkids. Maybe it'd help to think about it that way," Audrey said softly, and continued when it failed to elicit agreement. "Wellbutrin's safer than a low dose of my old stuff so I'm trying it and I like it so far. I'm not painting because of turp fumes and I haven't smoked since I found out."

Rust moved to practical matters aimed at Marty, who was getting increasingly red and wouldn't look at him. “I'm gonna stay out at Bob's and keep outta the office to give you some time to decide if you still want me working for you or not. I hope you will, but it's up to you.”

“And as soon as I can find a sublessor for my apartment I'll move here. Rust's already looking for a house. We're gonna do it.”

“Sounds to me like you already have.”

“Dad, God!”

"I think I'm entitled to think this is strange. I mean, this makes about no fuckin' sense. After all your talk back in the day. Both of you, hollerin' 'bout how the world's got enough people..."

"I know. I wasn't sure at first but then..." She looked over at Rust and smiled. "We decided."

Maggie pounced. "Don't let him talk you into anything you don't want."

"He didn't."

“And you're positive it's his?"

Eyes narrowed and scorn changed the shape of her nose. "I haven't been with anybody else."

"And I know this isn't easy but I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk like I'm not here," Rust said, lightly disappointed but not surprised. Maggie's features barely hid her disgust as she kept speaking to Audrey, not him.

"Honey, whatever you've had going on isn't representative of what you're in for. Not even close. Besides the age difference...I mean, you can't possibly know each other very well."

"I'm not sure how the hell you'd know that, but okay." People were starting to look over at them. "What exactly do you think should happen? Since apparently I can't decide for myself."

"Sweetheart," Marty began. "No one's saying that."

"Well it feels like it, and it's already decided. I want this. We both do."

Their waiter hovered nervously and scuttled elsewhere while Rust kept his voice low. "We might well be a disaster on paper but we're still gonna give it a try, and y'all need to understand this isn't some kinda cosmic do-over for me." Sophia still occupied one of the bigger chambers of his heart but she was utterly separate from this and suddenly Marty and Maggie slipped into transparencies that didn't really matter, their approval irrelevant. "Aud, you know that, right?"

"Yeah. I know." Sad, sweet tears sparkled in her eyes and Maggie looked to Marty for some sort of solidarity but he looked about twelve years old and useless as he'd ever been.

The situation couldn't be controlled, changed, or won and she stood up to go. “I'm sorry, but I don't feel like being upset in front of a restaurant full of people. Audrey, we'll discuss this when you get home.”

“I'm not going home.”

"Then we'll talk later."

The tension wasn't all that broken up with her departure and Marty chewed air and looked very, very upset. "Don't imagine y'all are gettin' hitched."

"We don't think it's important."

"Uh huh. Rust, can I talk to you outside a minute?"

Audrey's forearm barred him from getting up. "Whatever it is you can say it front of me. This isn't bad, okay? I'm happy about it."

She didn't look happy, but maybe she was underneath it all. Maybe deep down he'd known about them but couldn't quite process it all the way. Their odd affinity eased his reconciliation with Audrey far more than he deserved, and Rust had been a changed man for, what? A couple years now? "I gotta tell you two...this is highly fucking uncomfortable."

"Can't argue that."

"Huh." Marty stood up with hands on the back of his chair and looked in their general direction but couldn't meet their eyes. "I don't mean to copy your mother's penchant for drama, but I think I might go have a drink by myself at home. I'll uh...I'll let you know about work."

"Thanks," Rust said, slightly deflated but glad they weren't out in the parking lot making asses of themselves. Audrey sat back and let go of his hand.

"Pssht. That didn't go very well."

"Cut 'em some slack, I guess. We've known about us all along and they just found out."

*

Back at the little house, the adrenaline crash sat her in the sunken center of his tired old bed, yawning and debating whether to lie down. They'd stopped at a grocery store on the way back for radishes and she ate them off a chipped plate with butter and salt. "There's no point looking for a house here if they're not speaking to us. And what if my dad doesn't take you back?"

"Don't worry. He will."

He busied himself in the the closet and then in the other room, looking for tax forms or any kind of documentation on that IRA he started in his twenties. Audrey's crunching was unfamiliar music in the house, completely welcome but strange after all the time he'd spent there alone.

"You should come lie down with me," she called.

"I will once I find what I'm looking for."

Sifting through a few battered boxes didn't yield the right paperwork and he felt a little sick. Operating under the aphrodisiac of secrecy they'd ached for the luxury of uninterrupted normal time together, but now it stretched so far it ended in a colorless dot that could be an oncoming freight train just as much as it could be anything better. He focused on immediate necessity - money, and that damn IRA had to amount to something by now...

Every time a car got close he went to the window, hoping it might be Marty.

It took seven long days to get an invitation back to the office, which was good because there was no looking for a house without proof of employment. Maggie called Audrey the day before that, making polite conversation about good area obstetricians and acting like nothing was wrong.

Then everybody waited.

Rust, especially. That spring was elation and bewilderment that he had a mortgage on a two bedroom house - a first at his late age, and Audrey stayed inside during summer's misery with her feet up, alternating malt vinegar chips with chocolate and sketching things to paint once she could be around the smells again. To his supreme annoyance, Rust mirrored some of her emotional hyperdrive as she carried their offspring around on her own pink cushion and in late September, he finally got to hold his baby boy.

*

For a quiet half hour they whispered because anything more felt clunky and crude.

The delivery room had gone so fast there wasn't time to fret or worry and now there was Jesse Martin, wrapped up like a little loaf of bread in the crook of Rust's arm. He had a cupid's-bow mouth closed in a slight pout and one soft little fist peeked out from just under the flannel blanket. He was tired and cooperative and Rust ran a light fingertip over his faint brow and dusting of hair...his own ribs felt stretched from being so happy.

"You look good with a baby."

"You look good with and without one."

"Hmm." Holding him used fine little muscles Rust had forgotten about and it took all possible concentration. He couldn't multi-task if he tried, and why the hell would he want to? "His name still fits now that we've seen him."

"Yeah. I love it, too. I can't wait to tell dad."

A shadow passed the rectangular slice of window set into the door. Then another, and another. They'd asked for time alone but hadn't specified how much, and Audrey reached over to snag the crocheted wrap brought from home. "They're getting impatient," she said, and pulled it around her shoulders and pinched the apples of her cheeks for color. She held out her arms and waved the baby back. "Okay. Let's show him off."

The hospital room became a revolving door of visitors and a parade of nurses squealing over Maggie's new grandson. Audrey wore a relaxed Mona Lisa smile while Rust was quietly proud and didn't say much, just watched because there weren't words for how he felt. For all his years of bitching, the simplicity of biological imperative pushed up against his back and made him feel a good inch taller.

"Oh," Maggie said, carefully taking the bundle into her arms. "He's so beautiful."

Marty had awkward man-tears in his eyes before his turn even started, and when he reluctantly handed him back to Audrey, Rust slipped a Macanudo cigarillo into his shirt pocket. Surely Mr. Green Tea would break down and indulge on such an occasion.

"Figured we ought to. It's not too terrible 'cause they're small."

They went outside to light up and Marty exhaled a deep sigh. "I really appreciate the middle name thing," he said. "Kinda glad you didn't use it as a first name, though. Obvious rhyme and whatnot."

Rust had to think about it a second. "Oh yeah."

"I was always happy with the girls but it'll be nice to have a little boy around." He took a light drag and looked up at the sky. "Still don't quite know how you two pulled this off."

"The less y'all think about it the better, probably."

Marty nodded. It was true, even though no one had said it before. "Listen, Rust, your personal habits ain't none of my business, but you already got a major disadvantage built in and you need to be around for the two a them as long as you can."

"Fuck me, you think I don't know that?"

"Okay, Mr. Sensitive. Let's hurry up and smoke these. I want to go back in and look at him some more."

*

The next morning Rust juggled the contents of Audrey's overnight bag and the baby's things with a dutiful joy that hummed deep in his bones but the pleasure didn't last. Audrey fell into a funk soon after coming home, partially brought on by Jesse crying like a cartoon fire drill. For almost two hours he wouldn't eat and shrieked like he was being skinned alive. “He hates me,” she wept. “And I have zero maternal instinct and no fucking idea what I'm doing.”

Rust carefully took him, his voice ringing like a shrill little bell in his ear. “That's not true."

"Then why won't he stop?" She had wild, frantic eyes like a cornered animal. "He knows there's something wrong with me. That I'm not cut out for this." Her milk reflex sprung on one side and she looked down at the darkening circle in horror. "Oh my God..."

"Audrey-"

"Figure it out!” she screamed. “I can't, okay?”

He took another turn walking and shushing his little boy, blindsided by the discomfort of comparing him to Sophia, who'd fussed prettily and minimally and nothing like this. Then there were the awful things he'd said at his darkest about the fucking hubris this took...and what if this kid was screaming because he was half him and knew what was ahead? The ugliest speck of Rust's soul wondered how he'd ever had the gall to go through with this again and desperation forced an unthinkable phone call. "Maggie?" he said. "I don't know if you're busy but I think we could use some help."

The first thing she did was crank up the thermostat, then wrapped Jesse in a tight second blanket and walked him around the house, professional and firm. It somehow got him diminished to a low-grade fuss and when returned to Audrey he ate like he was starving, as if he hadn't been given the option a half dozen times. She held him in one arm and bawled into a onesie held in her other hand.

Maggie pulled Rust into the other room.

"You're going to have to help her. A lot. Make sure she's eating and getting enough sleep and do more than you think you should. Always."

"Yeah. I'm happy to."

"The hospital has outcall PPD volunteers so I'll send someone over. I'll come over, too. As often as she needs."

It's a place neither of them thought they'd be. The new taste of quiet was sweet but temporary and Rust already felt as haggard and tired as every year on his skeleton said he should be. On top of all that, he never thought he'd owe Maggie. For anything.

For three weeks he talked to Marty daily but never set foot in the office. Jesse calmed down and Audrey slowly perked up while Rust re-learned the slippery mechanics of a soapy baby and how to hoist tiny crossed ankles for a diaper change. He loved having to do so much - wrestling him into soft cotton clothes, holding him, smelling him, writing shopping lists on fridge sticky notes and doing all the satisfying small stuff that made a household run. Even with all his new jobs and getting to know his new baby, he could pinpoint the moment things swung around.

He had a respectable arroz con pollo simmering on the stove with twenty minutes downtime and made a social call down the hall.

The golden sunlight of dusk dusted everything in their bedroom. Audrey was on top of the covers with Jesse nestled up close, awake but happy as she examined his tiny fingers. "It must've been totally chemical," she said.

"What was?"

"Before. I don't know why I was so upset. Like, yeah this is scary but I should be proud of myself, you know? I made this kid."

Rust carefully stretched out opposite her and gravity pulled the baby slightly toward him. He inhaled his irresistible powder-smell and touched the downy soft duck-butt of hair on the back of his head. "That's how the rest of us see it."

"I mean, technically," she said. "I could've done it without you."

"Shit." What a relief to have her sounding like herself again. "I'm glad you didn't."

"Tomorrow I'm gonna tell the hospital volunteers they don't need to come anymore." She rolled Jesse back toward her and pressed her nose to his hair. "I think we're okay now."

The golden haze lasted a few more minutes until Jesse decided it was his dinnertime, too. Rust went back to the kitchen and felt relaxed enough to crack a beer, and that night they traded him back and forth, took a bunch of pictures and somehow settled into being an off-kilter little family.

* * *

Jesse has arctic blue eyes like Marty and Rust and Audrey's fair childhood hair. He's busy and bright and skinny-limbed no matter how much he eats.

Over time, Rust finds that the similarities and differences of his children are far more pleasure than pain to notice and somewhere in Jesse's third year he seems to exhale. He has to, because he needs the air to answer a million questions.

"Daddy, why don't people have feathers?"

"What do bugs do at night?"

"Why can't kids get tattoos?"

"If that store's closed then how come are all those lights still on?"

*

Funny to think how sleep was once a rare commodity, unfamiliar and odd when Rust got it and a faraway joke when he didn't.

Now it's easy as pie. More might be nice, but not a lot beats being awake these days.

He usually slips out of bed unnoticed but today he fits into all the places around Audrey, waist, backs of her legs, back of her neck, close and warm until she makes a soft little sound acknowledging he's there.

"Today's the day."

"Mmm. I'm glad it's now and not then."

"Me too."

"I hope you see her again this year."

"Me too."

He rolls out of bed, feet pin-shocked from standing and crunches his toes on the leg of Audrey's goddamn fucking easel - _again._ Breath whistles in as the pain soaks in and he makes the dark trek to their tiny half-bath, then to the kitchen to start coffee.

Ever the utilitarian, he'd bought the third house he looked at - they needed a two bedroom house so he got one, though every day now he longs for more space. The easel's been a problem since Audrey got on Etsy and starting doing easy canvases of people's pets rendered from photographs, a venture she takes pains to keep separate from her real name. The part of her that once stayed up all night working on six foot tall pieces stopped with Jesse. Painting cats and dogs is a humble step backward but at least it's money.

Rust's got a secret side venture of his own.

For years he kicked around the idea of writing a book, not the Carcosa one everyone wants but a criminology reference knitting together all the things he knows. He never thought it'd go anywhere, but after a few casual emails to the right person, it did.

5:00 AM is the quietest time to work. He makes coffee, showers, and sits down at the table for what could be two hours of tortured paralysis or decent productivity; even if he lucks into the latter, the best part of the morning is when Jesse stumbles out of his room, sleepy and uncoordinated. He climbs up onto dad's lap and snuggles against him until he's fully awake.

His pajamas are kitten-soft. Rust types with his right hand and pats the soft fleece of his back with his left. “Today's an awful big day for you.”

“I know,” Jesse sighs.

“Think you're ready for it?”

“Yeah. I can do it.”

Rust stops typing and holds him with both arms, kissing his messy blond hair. It's still hard to believe he's here sometimes. And he's _four_ now, when did that even happen? The clean scent of last night's bath still clings to him and curls soften under his touch. "I sure do love you bigger'n Texas."

“Hmm." Jesse absently touches the bird on his arm. "I wanna see the pictures of me an' mom."

"Okay. Turn around so you can see." Rust minimizes his writing and there they are, smiling on a display porch swing at Home Depot.

"I wish we got that swing."

"Yeah. Our porch isn't quite big enough."

"Can we look till the picture moves?"

"Okay." They stare and wait until Home Depot dissolves into Audrey and Jesse hunched over the coffee table, working on a watercolor that hangs in Rust's office now.

"Whenever I'm at work and Grandpa Marty stomps on my last nerve I look at that and feel better."

There's baby Jesse yawning on mom's lap. Toddler Jesse on tiptoes, holding Rust's fingers for balance. Recent Jesse stuffed in the laundry basket with a bunch of dryer-hot towels.

"Hey, that's my Saints shirt! Before it got the big stain!"

"Yep. Now how about just a few more 'cause I gotta get back to work. I think I hear your ma waking up anyway."

Audrey sweeps in looking suited to a backstage dressing room at an opera in a silky long-sleeved robe and hair piled up in a mess. She reaches down for a kid hand-off and Jesse latches onto her like a little monkey.

“Happy birthday, honey.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you feel different?”

Little arms reach up to ring her neck. "No. The same."

"You can take a day off from Pre-K if you want."

"Nah. I want to do it."

"Okay, smarty." She shifts him to one side and starts fixing herself coffee one-handed. "I'll make you some worksheets after I wake up a little."

Their practice for school started when she read an article about kids needing structured, productive things to do and it's a project she can show off for herself, too. There's always been a flicker of doubt in everyone's eyes that they could do this. Parents, neighbors...when she was pregnant they got awful looks from strangers all the time but Jesse's turning into such an interesting little kid people look at him now instead of at them.

She brings Rust a little top-off and he lowers his head to his forearms and sighs. What a lesson in humility that encyclopedic knowledge doesn't automatically make him a writer...

"Don't you have something major happening today?"

"The publisher's calling at eleven and I thought I'd go to the office and do as much as I can until then." Then, guiltily, "I know I usually get you something but I didn't have time this year. I'm sorry."

"That's okay, it's not my birthday. So what'll happen? Do you get an advance?"

"If they like it, I guess. If it's enough maybe we could do some stuff." His index finger sweeps in a circle. "Around here."

"Like French doors to the backyard?"

"I was thinking more like a studio in the backyard. So you'd have someplace work on big stuff like you used to."

Tears leap to her eyes. "Oh."

"I can tell you miss it. Anyway, I'd get a third to start, a third when it's done, and then the rest when it's published. So if you'd rather wait we could skip all that and look for a bigger house."

Jesse panics. "Daddy, no!"

"Let me finish. A bigger house _in this neighborhood_ so you don't miss your friends."

It placates him for a millisecond. "Okay, but _this_ is our house so we should prolly stay here."

Audrey's almost crying; they rarely talk about things this big and she's overwhelmed.

"If you want a studio, let's make it nice and big so I have less grass to mow."

"Yeah," she smiles with tender eyes. "Okay."

"Daddy, I want a bike."

It gives him chills. Always.

"Maybe when you're older."

"You always say older!"

"Well I got a mental block against you gettin' a bike. They're dangerous."

"Then get me ten hundred helmets."

Audrey kisses his cheek. "Don't nag, honey. We'll see," she says, and when Rust leaves for work, Jesse's at the table tracing her alphabet letters on ruled paper then writing his own in shaky, unsteady lines.

*

Marty's been experimenting with "par-retirement" and takes every other Friday off. He's probably either golfing or asleep, and Rust goes in to the empty office for a few hours to glare at a blinking cursor, fret about the looming phone call, and feel slightly sick. Like the last big secret kept from Marty, the one about the book's gone on for too long and the longer he waits to tell him the worse it'll be, but he rationalizes that none of it's amounted to solid news.

Not yet, anyway.

Nerves jangle in his stomach when the call comes as expected. Two northern voices on the other end of the line say hello and wait for a third, Rust's agent. He pictures them at a dark conference table polished to a mirror, ready to either make his day or crush him.

"What's the weather like there? Oh, hey. Paul's trying to patch in."

"Sorry. Have you got him on the line?"

"He's waiting."

"You guys there? Have you got Rust?"

"We're all here now."

"Great. Hey, Rust," the newest voice says. "Hope you're well."

"I am, thanks."

"Okay, guys. Go ahead."

"Alright. So, we've passed it around and we like it. We want to see more before talking money but...we're on board."

Relief breaks out on Rust like a cool tide. "I'm glad to hear it."

"Right. It's a great proposal, outline's good...but we'd like to see a couple chapters fleshed out. I vote for psych profiling."

There's a titter of laughter on the line and someone says, "I would've guessed paraphilia."

"No, that's you, Jerry. Rust, how about you give us both?"

Of course he hasn't written a fucking word for either; Paul gives no indication that's greedy so Rust agrees. "I'll get on it soon I get my son's birthday party out of the way."

"Oh, how old?"

"Four."

"That's a fun age."

"Okay, well get started and we'll catch up again soon. Let's say in a month? Or earlier, depending on your speed."

"I can do that."

"Okay, great. We'll hang up so you can talk to Paul. Nice talking to you, Rust."

"Likewise."

A double click happens and it's down to two. Rust met Paul in person once and likes him because he's originally from Texas and doesn't seem to buy into anyone's bullshit.

"Congratulations."

"Thanks."

"I say we give 'em one good chapter and demand a contract."

"Even after they asked for two?"

"Yep. Fuck 'em."

*

When he gets home, two sprays of balloons are tied to the rail out front and the birthday boy's waiting at the screen door. “See my balloons?”

“Kinda hard to miss 'em,” Rust says as the breeze bats them in his face. “You still four?”

“Yep!”

“I thought so. You look older.”

"Thanks!"

Rust steps inside and notices his hair's been brushed, though not much can tame those wavy curls that fluff up in the back. "I hope you didn't throw one of your famous fits when mama brushed your hair."

"No. But she said to look nice I hafta wear a shirt with buttons for the party."

"Well if it makes you feel any better I'm gonna wear a shirt with buttons, too. Mind if I shut this door?"

"No, don't. So I can see my balloons."

Audrey's in the kitchen cutting celery into sticks with long, zippery sounds and she looks up with wide, hopeful eyes. "Well?"

"Well." He pauses for drama. "It's not quite official but you've painted your last cat."

The wet knife drops to the cutting board and she sticks to him tight. "I knew you could do it. That's good. That's gonna be so good, I'm gonna finish Sadie Mae Bluebell and take the whole fucking shop down." She pulls back and wipes away a happy tear. "I can't wait."

"Think I'll tell your dad tonight when he's in a good mood."

"Can I tell mom?"

Oh God. "Maybe wait on that till I got a contract. Just in case."

"Okay. She's coming over any minute to help out."

Rust nods but dreads it a little. Maggie's the world's most enthused grandma and would be at their house every day if they'd allow it. It's worrying how she's adopted a condescending air that they're two vice-crippled halfwits who have no business raising a kid, but she probably just wants Jesse all to herself. They can't blame her - he is awful damn cute.

The vague soar of a child's voice rises from outside, and Jesse's response is so loud they flinch. “Pretty soon!” he hollers out the screen door.

“Dammit,” Audrey says. “They've been screaming across the street all morning. Jess, stop that!”

“But JeanTierre wants to know when is the party!”

“His mom knows and she'll bring him when it's time. Close the door.”

“I have to shut the door!” he yells. “Bye!”

A constellation of water droplets shake off Audrey's hands and she wipes them dry on a towel. “Don't forget to go pick up the keg and let it sit so we're not pouring foam all night. Oh, and the brisket guy brought the smoker over right after you left. Go out in the backyard and take a big sniff. You're gonna die.”

Last year they had a crawfish boil, but this year he's dropping a pile of money on barbecue and the blackened smoker in the corner smells so good he could classify the brisket guy as an honorary Texan. Even better is the circus tent Audrey made by pinning strategic points of a white sheet to the clothes line, with Jesse's little table and four chairs set inside for his friends. She's even strung white Christmas lights inside to match the ones hung in their tree.

Jesse's been trailing behind him.

"Hey. Isn't this something'? Your ma's awful good to you."

Jesse stuffs hands in his pockets and disagrees. "She said I can't play with sidewalk chalk right now."

"Probably we're busy with party stuff and nobody can watch you."

"But JeanTierre can watch me."

"Answer's still no. Now how about you go watch out the window for grandma."

*

Marty shows up early with a giant gift they don't have room for. It's clearly a kid-sized easel, wrapped in several weeks of Sunday comics sections from the newspaper.

"You look pretty, sweetheart," he says of Audrey's coppery shirt and little marled mini-sweater with deep brown buttons. "Very autumnal."

"Thanks."

He nods Rust's way. "This asshole helping you out enough?"

She smiles. "Always."

"Well, good. I'm sure it's crossed your minds today too but it's hard to believe your little guy's as old as he is."

"He's whole year smarter, I swear," Rust says. "Ten minutes ago he asked where blood comes from.”

“That's a tough one. What'd you tell him?”

“I said it's a built-in part of your body. Then he wanted to know how much there is and why it doesn't all pour out when you get cut.”

“God, I don't envy you. Doin' all this shit at your age..."

"Fuck you, man. Come on and help me put a dent in the keg out back."

“Is this party for him or you?”

“It's for the whole neighborhood,” Rust says, and it's true. Besides Jesse's trio of little friends that live on their block, he wants the whole fucking world to celebrate this.

Rust compliments Marty's pouring skill up and down. Of course Marty eats up the praise like he once would've done a box of Krispy Kremes, and Rust breaks the seal once they're two beers in. "I gotta talk to you about something."

"'Oh," Marty says, suspicious. Despite the man's general increase in happiness, most words out of his mouth still sound ominous. "What?"

"I've been writing."

"Oh yeah? Writing what?"

"A book. Not the one everyone keeps askin' us for, it's more like an academic reference. Anyway, I've been doing it on the side and there's been some interest in it. It won't take me away from what I do with you but I thought you should know."

"Huh. You get, like, an advance?"

"Almost, but my agent says it's a sure thing."

It sounds so snooty he immediately regrets saying it.

"That's great, man. Congratulations." Marty claps him on the back but can't quite look at him. "Good for you."

For a moment Rust senses the jealousy of their earlier, worse days but then Jesse sprints by with a dishtowel pinned to his shirt like a cape and it's impossible to think about it any more.

*

Midway through the birthday party the kids re-configure the clothesline tent and pull down some of the points to make it more private. The brisket's amazing, the beer's cold, and a backyard full of people singing happy birthday to his boy is Rust's favorite moment of the year, every year. It's why he saves up for it and plans to continue the tradition, even when Jesse's sixteen and hates it and probably him, too.

They usher the last guest out at quarter to eleven and Audrey holds Jesse on her hip and dances him around in a fake tango, dipping him upside down while he shrieks with delight. Rust closes both of them in his arms and sneaks in kisses where he can. "Nice job tonight."

"Thanks! I think everybody had fun. I know I did." She dips Jesse again and Rust reaches out to take him.

"C'mere, you." He snatches him up and throws him over a shoulder while he screams in rapture. "We gotta pick you up an' throw you around as much as we can. Next year you might be too big for this."

"I might be huge! Hey, can you play me like a clock?"

Before Rust starts swinging him by the feet like a pendulum, Audrey says, "Don't. I hate that game."

"Sorry. Gotta do what the lady says." He slowly lowers him down head first and Jesse grins up at them from the tiled floor.

"Can I give daddy the thing we made?"

"Yes, but don't get upset if he doesn't feel like eating it tonight."

"What? Nobody should be doin' stuff for me, it's your day."

"We did anyway. Mama said."

"Well, let's see what it is."

Jesse gets up for the refrigerator and proudly brings back a homely bowl of lemon pudding made from a box, Rust's favorite for his own birthday. He claims it's because cake's too sweet but it's really because it's what Pop used to make for him.

"Wow, thank you." He gets a spoon from the drawer. Pop made his with powdered milk and it wasn't bad, but this is so much better. “Mmm. Just like mom didn't used to make.”

“She did too!” Jesse says crossly. “I was there an' I helped stir.”

“Well you did a nice job. Thank you both.” He looks at Audrey with all the affection he can. “You're too good to me.”

She doesn't break eyes with him. “Jess, it's way past your bedtime but I'll let you stay up a little longer if you go brush your teeth. You've had a ton of frosting tonight.”

“Okay. But say again my baby story.”

“You got tired of being squished in my belly, so you gave me a big kick after breakfast and we went to the hospital. Daddy said you were out before his coffee got cold."

Rust sucks on his spoon and remembers the best parts of that day, like her fearlessness once the epidural soaked in and the heart-stop of Jesse's first howl. That night he sipped 18-year Jameson bought for the occasion and mopped up the kitchen floor, very aware that it might be the last night he ever spent alone.

"Say again what this is,” Jesse says from the same floor, rolling one of his new toys around on its wheels.

“It's a scooterboard. You sit on it and scoot around." Rust puts his foot down on it and slides it away from him. "Now quit stalling an' go brush your teeth before they fall outta your mouth. I'll read you four stories tonight if you hurry, okay?”

"Okay!"

He scampers away and they listen for the bathroom tap to squeak on. Once it does, Audrey puts her own foot on the scooterboard and slides it around with her hip stuck out.

"Shame on you, makin' a kid's toy look saucy like that."

Eyebrows lift and she sticks her ass out even more. “You wanna take out a few hundred bucks and go to Texas this weekend?"

"Nope."

They could be common-law married across the state line by doing little more than deciding that they were, so _taking you to Texas_ is a joke they've started framing as punishment. Tart lemon pinches at Rust's jaw for the punchline. “I like you an' all, but I don't wanna lose the deposit on the keg.”

“You asshole.” She punches his arm and skateboards away. He chases a little and she screams, scooting around the kitchen on one foot.

He reaches out to catch her arm and intentionally misses. “'Course if I change my mind you gotta bring that stuff I like."

"What stuff?"

"You know." The little ensemble that renders him helpless: cream-colored silk edged with wide black lace.

“Dryer ate it.”

“You lie.”

“All the time. But not when it's this important.” She squeals when Rust's arm swipes out and touches her back and the scooting accelerates.

“You can't joke about something this big.”

“Oh, I'm not.”

They're still for a heavy, supercharged moment and when he lunges, Audrey shrieks and kicks off so hard the scooterboard shoots out from under her and bangs against the metal drawer of the stove. She lands hard on the tile, laughing at first and then crying sharply.

“Oh shit. Hold still, hold still.” His knees pop and scream as he kneels down beside her arm. It's turned at an unbelievable angle and a closed fracture looms under the skin; he tips her chin up with a fingertip. “Don't look down.”

“Is it-”

“It's nothin' major, just don't look at it. Jess, quit screaming, okay? Everything's okay.” He pulls a dishtowel out of a drawer and covers the misshapen spot, then takes Jesse's toothbrush so he won't choke on it. "Go get your shoes on. We're going for a ride."

He gets Audrey situated in the front seat of the with one of Jesse's old blankets draped over her shoulder, and she's fine until they're almost to the hospital. “I felt it! Why the fuck did I touch it, oh God...Rust. This is bad, right? Right?”

“Mom,” Jesse cries from his carseat. “Mama?”

“We're almost there,” Rust says. “Everybody try an' stay calm.”

“Mama, am I in trouble?”

“No, honey.” She takes a big breath swallows it all back down. “Don't worry. I'm okay.”

*

The ER takes hours and Jesse falls asleep, heavy as a sack of wet cement in Rust's arms in the waiting room. He barely stirs when Audrey's released, stone-faced with a cast and a crumpled paper prescription in her hand.

"I'm a little fucked up," she says. "They doped me up and set it."

A doctor already told him. "Yeah. They said it's good you didn't need any screws."

"I wouldn't say I'm screwed. It does suck, though. A lot." She shrugs. "I can't paint. Shit, I can't even make worksheets."

"I'll help you. Come on, you know I'll help you with everything. It's gonna be fine."

It's almost two by the time they fill the prescription at a drive-thru pharmacy and get home. Rust gets Jesse into pajamas and tucked in, then tries to do the same for Audrey but she's maudlin and talky.

"Even if this hadn't happened I'm worried that we'll build out back and I won't be able to paint anything good and we'll have done it for nothing." She's understandably dazed but a flat darkness in her eyes gives him pause. "It's like I slid into my thirties looking backwards at my old life. It's all so far away now."

"Nah. When Jess starts school and you've got time you'll get it all back. It's a part of you. It doesn't just go away." He pulls off her shoes and sets them off to the side. "Nice job on the party tonight."

"Yeah," she says dourly. "I wonder how many people only come for the Abita keg and to judge our age difference."

"Nobody who knows us does that, and fuck 'em if they do. Now lift up your arm if you can. Actually, I can probably wiggle it off...okay, hold still."

She provides a limp degree of cooperation and looks at the floor. "Sometimes I wish I had a real job 'cause on the outside it looks like you take care of me. That's so gross."

He eases the sleeve of her little sweater over her cast. "It's also bullshit 'cause you take care of me most of the time." He pauses and wonders if he should even ask. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." She shifts so he can lift her top over her head. "I don't know. I'm just sad."

Rust finds that she's been wearing the cream silk and black lace all along. Shivers come just from the touch of the stuff and he removes it more carefully than he ever has and gets her into her worn old pajamas. They quietly agree that they love each other when Rust folds her into bed and he winces a little because his eyes burn. "Thank you. For everything, and I don't just mean tonight, I mean all that you do for Jess. You don't know the good it does me to see that kid so happy."

"Yeah I do." She opens her eyes for one more sleepy look at him. "Goodnight."

He snaps off the light and closes up the rest of the house. When he puts the pudding away, he notices the white lights out the window and the seductive lure of the keg in the backyard is more than he can resist.

Exactly one year ago tonight he'd been picking hollow crawfish tails out of the grass and saw Sophia by the tree, a pale little shape with a fistful of cake. She's not there now, but of course Rust never sees her when he tries. He has an inexplicable certainty that one day Jesse will see her and a whole new space will open up for all three of them.

He pours a tall one and drinks it and two more under the little white lights in the tree, looking at the wilted tent and back at the house with his family tucked safely inside.

Despite the night's fucked up conclusion, he really can't complain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, this is even more unpopular than I expected! Thanks for giving it a try and esp. to all you lovely mysterious guests who like it enough to say so. I luff yoo. <3


	2. in trouble

Audrey half-dreams the night before as a vague collage of firefly lights and brown sugar smoke...Jesse's hair warm from running around and Rust's understated smile and ubiquitous beer. She can't quite remember what ruined their night until pain like pent-up lightning wakes her in the pale wash of six AM.

The only movement that feels safe is tapping Rust with an outstretched foot.

"Mmmph. Huh?"

"Hey. Wake up, I need help."

"Okay. Okay, I'm up."

His eyes adjust; the bad arm had been propped on a pillow a few hours earlier but now the pillow's on the floor and her cast's cocked in a way that looks stable but uncomfortable. "How the hell'd you do that?"

"I don't know, but it's asleep all the way up to my shoulder and it hurts so much I can't stand it."

"Can you move?"

Her face pinches in a cringe. "I'm scared to."

"Maybe roll onto your side and try sitting up. I'll be right back."

She still hasn't moved when he brings a glass of water and it takes a while to get her upright and coax pills into her. They're hard to choke down and it's a struggle not to cry. "God, it really hurts. This is so fucking dumb...my hip even hurts, like maybe it's bruised. Can you see it?"

She shifts to one side, and a few inches below her peppermint striped pajama pants Rust finds an oval so deep the oxygen cutoff's started to suffocate the red into purple. "Yeah, you knocked yourself pretty good. Let's try this." He pushes his pillows to flank hers and she lays back into the soft horseshoe, her stomach issuing an odd question mark sound around the water she just sipped.

She settles into stillness and a quick glance at the bottle reminds Rust that he once had the same prescription, doled out only slightly less lovingly by Marty. "I was on this when I first moved in with your dad. I remember the kick-in felt like being flattened out by a rolling pin."

"Hmm, not there yet," she says, though at least the pinpoint focus is starting to dull. He traces lines out to each one of her fingers and they absorb the quiet that's gotten rare in their house. "Poor Jess, putting up with all that last night. I hope he doesn't wet the bed."

"I had him try one last time when we got home. He's probably fine."

"Mmm. Good."

His fingertip starts to feel like a creamy stick of Conté melting into the back of her hand and the downward pressure starts to come in thick, welcome waves; when the stitch of tension in her brow disappears Rust slowly shifts his weight off the bed and heads to the kitchen to start coffee.

Psych profiling and paraphilia are the last things he wants to think about but he takes out a crisp new filter and the sack of oily beans like it's any other day. There's a fair amount of cups-and-crumbs party aftermath to deal with but nothing urgent, and he scoots the yellow scooterboard out into the garage before sitting down to work.

The motivation of real money so close makes the paragraphs fatten and build with an ease he always chases but rarely gets. The mental clicks smooth out and connections he's fought to find are suddenly obvious, and he loses all track of time until Jesse tiptoes out of his room. All productivity recedes into the background when he climbs up into his lap. "Morning, kiddo."

Jesse's skittish and clingy. "Is mama in the hospital?"

"No, she's in bed. You were awful brave last night. It was scary, huh?"

Jesse nods. "I hate for her to scream and cry."

"I do too, but she won't anymore 'cause the doctors fixed it." Jesse's content with that, but then bristles at the sounds of doors squeaking and the rush of water through pipes on the other end of the house. He presses his face into dad's collarbone when the footsteps approach.

Audrey's usual watercolor morning appearance is marred by the bright blue swatch. "Before you tell me to go back to bed, I'm not staying up. I have to stay on schedule." She hands over the orange meds bottle that lives by the coffeepot so she never forgets. "Open this? Thanks."

Rust presses and twists off the cap while Jesse continues to hide. "Someone's not too thrilled about that thing on your arm."

"That makes two of us. Honey, don't be scared. I'm fine."

"But I don't wanna see it."

"You know daddy's starfish scar? That used to be a thousand times worse than a broken arm but it healed right up. And I'm healing up, too."

"Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore. See, look," She sits down beside them and rests her forearm on the table. "It's like a turtle shell and we all have to get used to it 'cause I have to wear it for a long time. We can even draw on it with markers, if you want to."

"Maybe," is all he'll commit to as he turns his face away.

"Anything you need done today, I'll do it," Rust says. "House stuff, kid stuff..."

"Well, I need you to put a coat of Dammar on that stupid cat painting for me. You can put my easel in the garage, too." He senses her click into some unknown gear and a glassy chert-edge shines in her eyes. "Guess your wish finally came true. You always wanted it out of the bedroom."

He treads with care. "I don't know if you remember the stuff you were talkin' about last night, but if you wanna start up with Dr. Sobeloff again I'll rearrange my schedule. Bring Jess by the office once a week and let him work on shredding for an hour."

Jesse's head tips back. "Is there a lot? Can I sit in your chair?"

"There's a big stack, and yes you can."

Audrey smiles wistfully and Rust tries the unanswered question again. "Do you remember what you said?"

"Yeah," she says softly. "Just because I don't talk about it doesn't mean I don't think about it. It's not therapy material, though. Don't take it personal."

"I won't, but if you start turning gray you gotta tell me."

It's their old code word for when she doesn't feel right, and she always hopes the last time was _the last time._ "Hey Jess, guess what?" she asks, drawing a fingertip squiggle on his back. "I got a bruise on my rear end. That's kinda funny, huh."

He smiles. "Yeah."

"What's extra funny is that it happened before. Way before you and daddy when I lived in the Quarter, I woke up one time with a tambourine under my pillow and a big bruise on my butt."

"Oh yeah?" Rust tamps down a secret tickle of jealousy. "Were you in a band?"

She's half cagey, half proud. "I guess that night I was."

*

In the early days Audrey's a good sport but soon fades behind a curtain of frustration, not quite on the brink of an emotional nosedive but Rust still watches for signs like a service dog. She's sleeping fine so that's good, and she's not picking nonsensical fights or being destructive, which is also good. Still, he bends in subservience every chance he gets to keep her in the same neutral place.

Every morning he sets undies on the floor for her to step into and pulls them up. Kisses her hipbone, helps her dress, and washes her hair bent over the kitchen sink with the sprayer every other day. He masks just how much he enjoys the intimacy because he knows she's restless and bored.

Mornings formerly spent on Pre-K worksheets are spent nestled on the couch with Jesse, watching Animal Planet with the blinds drawn.

"Y'all have sure been watching a lot of TV," Rust says, not wanting to be too critical but still wanting the complaint heard. Audrey looks up with a tired, peaceful sort of look.

"I'm not fighting failure anymore, I've decided to embrace it. Parental, professional..."

"Bull. You can't say with all the stuff you do."

 _"Did,_ you mean." Jesse tucks his toes under her thigh when she sits up and straightens the drapey sweater she's been living in. "I've thought about it lately and I think I was overcompensating. Like I never wanted to do all the house crap I did before I got hurt. Who would, right?"

"Nobody, I guess." Their division of domestic labor sorted itself almost without discussion; she stayed home because she didn't want Jesse in daycare, and Rust never gave it much thought except to consider himself the world's luckiest asshole because she took care of so much.

"I think trying not to be like a daughter turned me into your mother in some kind of sick way. Like who my age uses Borax and makes biscuits from scratch?"

"Nobody, and far as I know neither did my mom."

"Exactly, it's like I rewound to 1950. I guess I thought you needed it. That you'd like it."

Had some part of him known and loved every minute of it? "Well that's disturbing as hell."

"I know. It hasn't been terrible but I want to be more like myself. Not that I wasn't before, but you know what I mean."

Rust nods because he wants that too, and Jesse breaks his television stupor to lift his head.

"Do we still get biscuits?"

Audrey pretends to think about it until his little feet tap against her leg. "Okay. You'll always get biscuits."

"Good."

Rust kneels down on the floor beside them. He squeezes Jesse's knee, but Audrey jerks her cast hand away when he moves to kiss it.

"Don't. It stinks."

He kisses the other and weaves his hand with her forbidden one, and the pattern of fingers gets him to thinking about rebar grid. When they get a foundation poured out back, they'll have to press their handprints in it, like a parade of featherless gray turkeys arranged from big to small.

*

The cast stays on for six weeks, and the morning of its scheduled removal Rust sneaks out for a celebratory box of fresh Cinnabons. The touch of formality reminds Audrey of a childhood church morning, and she watches Jesse work on an icing-smudged worksheet while Rust puts away last night's dishes.

He's made a few blue comments lately about being too busy and missing her, so she sneaks up from behind and rests her nose on the broadcloth between his shoulder blades. He's always been a reluctant love sponge who craves touch and his energy ebbs from all business down to a slower pitch.

"When are you supposed to hear from Paul?"

"Any day now. He thought their offer came in a little low so he countered and we're waiting to hear."

"Hmm." She pulls back and adjusts her bra underwire...it's a hard horse to get back on after weeks of going without. "I hope dad's not pissed you're taking the morning off."

"No, he gets it. It's been tough on you and it's important."

Breasts bob in his periphery and it puts a scent in his head like the silken bread pudding they used to get at Kingfish when he visited, layers parting like vanilla cleavage and spread legs. Sometimes it's still hard to believe she'd give him the time of day, much less have a kid with him, and he relishes the familiarity of Jesse's face for a moment. Her nose, his eyes...it's all there, mapped out on this endearing little kid who already likes schoolwork. It's so much more than he ever could have hoped for.

Audrey's watching him with gentle curiosity. "Are you seeing things?"

"No." He shakes it off and digs in his front pocket for keys. "Just thinking."

The clinic's a short drive away and they get comfortable in the orthopedics waiting area, with its aquarium and ficus forest and giant plate-glass windows. No wonder medical procedures cost so much, and of course their goddamn insurance deductible restarts in January. Rust considers joking that she needs to stay out of trouble but doesn't, because nothing about this is funny.

Her name's called almost right away. "Audrey? Hi. Right this way."

Rust and Jesse wave goodbye and she's led to the examination room. It's nice to be in one for positive reasons, and a compliment that the doctor remembers she's an artist.

"Bet you'll be glad to finally have this off," he says.

"You have no idea." She takes a seat and rolls up her sleeve. "I'll have to start small, but I want to start working again."

"We'll get you on your way, then. Okay." The saw revs like a car engine and the doctor begins his practiced spiel. "The friction creates a lot of heat, and you may feel it but it can't hurt you, and the blade can't cut you, either. Just hold still and we'll have you out of here before you know it."

The saw's as loud as a chainsaw and the dank, overly personal smell when the cast's cracked in half is disgusting. A flush of fresh air chills her skin, and when it's fully uncovered her jaw falls open.

Her forearm bones look like a stripped chicken wing in a sports bar basket. The upper part's not much better and hot tears float to her eyes. "Oh..."

"Move it around," her doctor says, then assists when she doesn't. "Elbow, wrist...this level of atrophy's normal. You'll bounce back soon."

Her toes curl when the nurse bathes off the funk. Her skin's too sensitive and there's an awful smell, like dirty sweat and old underwear. Rust would know, but it's so bad she wonders if this is the smell of death.

"You'll want to soak it in warm water for about 20 minutes twice a day and when all that dead skin sloughs off that odor'll go away."

She nods, and makes herself talk around the icy lump in her throat so she won't cry. "I don't think my son can see this. He'll freak out."

"Ah, how old?"

"Four."

"With a boy that age you'll build your muscle back up before you know it."

Patting dry is a ticklish nightmare and the doctor pauses in his notes. "We'll start you on PT twice a week and might look at occupational therapy depending on how it goes. It's unfortunate that this happened with your dominant arm, but hey. Chances of that are fifty fifty no matter who you are!"

The nurse laughs at the tired old line and Audrey shakes her head, unable to even play along. The rubbery unreal limb hanging off of her is somehow worse than before and she doesn't want to talk about it or show anyone; Jesse might be curious but Rust will be all over her if he knows how off-balance she feels.

She takes an intentional breath on the way to the waiting room and tucks the dead arm up and under the other. Jesse's looking at the aquarium in the corner and in the window's sunlight, his hair's almost transparent. Rust even looks more blond than gray on the side the sun touches. "So?"

"It's great," she lies. "Good as new."

Jesse pulls a homemade card on orange construction paper out from under his shirt. "I made you this."

"Oh, honey. Thank you." She hugs him and compliments his marker-drawn flower garden but Rust senses she's not quite right.

"Tell me what's wrong," he says when they're in the elevator and Jesse ghosts his fingers over every button, wanting to press but not brave enough to do it.

"It's all shrunk and it still stinks. It's horrible."

"I can smell it," Jesse says, and Rust shushes him gently.

"Imagine it'll take time."

She wipes away a stray tear. "I've waited so long and it's like everything's on hold. _Again."_

"It's okay. Anything you want, I'll do. I'll-"

"We don't need to talk this to death, okay? Just let me be sad."

He shuts his mouth because she's got that raw, dark-edged look that whatever he says will be wrong, and he takes Jesse's hand and lags a quarter step behind her on the way to the car.

At home, she magnets the cheery orange card to the refrigerator and they begin an awkward dance of pretending things are better. Rust picks at the perimeter of the cinnamon rolls for a while and heads over to the office, but every hour he finds himself outside, tapping ashes into a sand-filled coffee can and wondering what to do.

*

A new trip hazard - a growing pile of laundry - takes up residence where the easel once was, and Audrey's depression, which has always been there at the edges, starts to stretch and crowd them. She tends Jesse with a trace of irritation skewing her normal affection and Rust starts to feel like a necessary but unloved roommate.

He somehow steers her back to therapy, and besides the rosy hope that it will help, it's a joy to have Jesse in the office. He shreds paper and acts as messenger for Hangman games with Marty, toting a little clipboard up and down the stairs.

Rust's deep in work when he hears Audrey come in downstairs. Her voice has the upward swing of a tree swallow in flight when she talks to Marty and Jesse, but when she comes up to see him, he knows it was all an act.

She's pretty even through the scowl, and plops down in the chair across from his with a defiant sort of confidence. "I'm not going anymore because it's a total waste of money. Especially with our deductible starting over in a couple weeks."

"But it's only your second time. And money's no object when it comes to this."

"Yeah, but he just sits there," she complains. "He has all the notes from when I used to be a regular but he keeps wanting to back up and talk about things we've already covered. It's a racket and I'm not doing it anymore."

"Then we'll find someone else."

"Why? It's just more starting over and more money. We don't have a lot to throw around and I'm not doing it."

It wounds him; it wasn't meant to be a stab at his breadwinning capabilities, and she tries another angle. "Look, you've seen me messed up, and I'm not crying all day or staying awake three nights in a row, right?"

True, but he's not stupid. "It can manifest in different ways."

"Yeah, well. I'm glad you care about me so much but you don't need be up my ass like this."

"I'm not up your ass, Audrey."

"Lower your voice."

"I'm not being loud. I may be sayin' shit you don't wanna hear, but-"

Both their heads turn at Jesse's mini footsteps climbing stairs. "We're done talking about this," she says, and smiles wide at their tiny little office drone with his clipboard.

"Daddy, grandpa says this prolly isn't a real word so he's the winner."

"He did, huh? Well..." Rust fills in the missing letters - **AMBIDEXTROUS** \- and hands the clipboard back. "Give him that on your way out and see if smoke rolls out his ears."

"Okay."

"Come gimme a hug, kiddo. Mmm, thank you for all your help today."

"Thanks for watching him," Audrey says, taking Jesse's hand in a way that looks like she's borrowed another woman's mannerisms. "Don't forget we have dinner at mom's tonight."

"I won't." A deep bend warps the file cabinet by the window but he ignores it because it isn't real. "Guess I'll see y'all at home."

"Bye, dad!"

"Bye, Jess. Thanks again."

The percussive music of their departure dies into quiet and Rust wonders how in the fuck they got here from where they started. Audrey could never regret Jesse, but he's getting a weird sense that she might be done with him.

He's about to go out for his third smoke of the day when a two-toned chime heralds a new addition to his inbox, and his heart jumps because it's from Paul.

 

 **Subject: RE: Re: FWD: Our #89915, RCohle draft/offer letter**  
  
Rust,

Great news, I got you 150K. You'll get a check for around 42 within a week or so. Congrats! You'll need to get writing.  
They want a finished manuscript within 6 mos. if you can. I said you could.

Talk soon,

Paul

 

Instead of enjoying it, Rust feels slightly ill. Six months isn't long considering how little he has to show for the last one, and he can't see that improving much with Audrey being so checked out and irritated with him. But at least they'll have good news to share over dinner at Maggie's house tonight, and maybe...maybe it'll be enough to swing her back around.

*

He finishes out the workday and lumbers the old truck into the driveway at home. The plan is to tell Audrey first thing and have a celebratory beer before heading to Maggie's, but the front door to the house only opens partway; something soft is blocking it.

It's Audrey's purse, all contents spread out beside it. Checkbook, bank cards, two orange prescription bottles, pens, lipgloss, and he knows it's not a robbery when Jesse strolls by half naked with a Revlon powder compact flayed open in his hand. “Hi.”

“Jess, where are your pants?”

“My room.”

“You mind telling me why you ain't wearing 'em?”

“I'm waiting to see what color farts are.”

The laugh escapes Rust like a burst balloon. To think he could've clung to the no more kids notion and missed stuff like this. It's got to be related to their long conversation about not eating crayons. “I'm pretty sure they're clear.”

“How do you know?”

“Science. Now clean up your ma's stuff and go put your damn pants on.”

He walks through the house to find Audrey. “Aud? Have you seen this kid of yours lately?”

She's in the bedroom, eyes deep liquid black, halfway between awake and not. “What's he doing?”

“Bein' funny.”

“Oh." She's in soft pajama pants and one of his old t-shirts hangs off her shoulders. "I missed it."

"You okay?"

"I'm just tired. Sobeloff took more out of me than I thought, and you're gonna love this. I've decided to keep going."

Relief shoots through his bloodstream like a spring blast of pollen. "That's good."

"Yeah. I made appointments every week through February and I'm going to try harder."

"I'm glad to hear it." He wonders where that came from and notices the outfit she had on earlier is draped across the foot of the bed. "You might wanna put your real clothes back on before we go to your mom's house.”

“You two can go without me. Say I'm too tired.”  
  
She's too tired for a lot of things lately and Rust's happy tingle dissolves. He looks at the hollow above her collarbone and waits for the real reason to surface. It takes about five seconds, and she rubs her face and sighs.  
  
“I'm sick of how she judges everything we say or do. Like she talks when you're not around sometimes. Drops hints that I'd be better off without you and I wouldn't be surprised if she thinks Jess'd be better off without either of us. I can't deal with it tonight.”  
  
His hackles rise and he pulls back from the edge of a fight they pussyfoot around but never really start. "Maybe I can't deal with it, either. I don't wanna go over there without you." He never wants to go to Maggie's at all, and only when he sees her eyes up close does he realize she's bombed out of her mind. “What the hell are you on right now?”  
  
“The usual and a little extra. My arm hurt like a bitch so I gave myself a treat.”

It's like his heart's being squeezed. “You shouldn't do that when you're home alone and it's supposed to be for pain, not fun.”

“I'm not doing it for fun. There's nothing fun about my life right now. Trust me.”

“Aud...”

She holds up a hand. “I already got a dad, Rust. I don't need two.”

He swallows his comeback, makes sure Jesse's wearing pants, and revisits the bedroom on the way out. He shouldn't be an asshole when she's low but the bitterness surfaces before he can choke it back down. “I know I'm just a paycheck to you and I don't give a shit how you treat me, but Jess deserves a hell of a lot more than you've been giving him lately."

Small, sadistic delight rustles at her curdled expression. "I'm trying."

"Not hard enough you aren't."

The truth always hurts when it should, and he talks loud so Jesse won't notice the soft _hoo, hoo, hoo_ coming from the bedroom when they leave.

*

They aren't even in the front door when a sharp look settles on Maggie's face. "Where's Audrey?"

"She's tired and wanted to stay home."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that," she says, but her disappointment fades fast because her grandson trumps all. Nothing's off limits at grandma's, not even the Russian Blues she lets him dispense unwanted hugs to.

"Gramma, where are the cats?"

"They're around here somewhere. Look under all the chairs."

Jesse takes off and Rust stands still. It always takes him a minute in the foyer to calibrate himself to the surroundings. The ceilings are too high, the crown molding's so white it makes his teeth hurt, and sometimes when Jesse stands in certain doorways he looks like he got separated from his classmates at the museum.

"Glad to see you, Rust." The decreasingly new husband hands over a cold one. "Here ya go."

"Well if you aren't the perfect host. Thank you," he says, and takes the beer he wanted an hour ago, before his night went to shit.

"How's it going with your book? Have you heard back from the publisher yet?"

"Not yet," he lies, because David can't be the first person he tells. "But I got a real good feeling about it."

"Well here's to good news." Beer bottle clinks against Scotch glass and Rust takes a long, deep swig.

“Hoo boy that hits the spot,” he says, and Jesse sidles up and leans on his leg.

“Wanna taste.”

“Not till you're ten. Now scoot.”

Jess sprints after a wary cat and Maggie blinks hard and fast. “I can't believe you said that.”

“What? I'm not serious.” Probably not the time to say he got hits off of pop's whiskey from the time he was three and look how great he turned out.

“He's genetically predisposed to problems and you really shouldn't encourage him.”

“Wait a minute-”

“Rust, normal people don't have kegs at a four year old's birthday party. Come to think of it, you did it last year, too.”

But not the year before; his need to celebrate Jesse's milestones should be obvious. “He's happy and healthy. I don't know what else you want for him. Boat shoes and an ascot, probably.”

“This isn't a joke, Rust.”

The dormant part of him that uses the C-word and ignores consequences scratches at the nape of his neck. He's had just about enough of the Hart women for one night. “Nobody's laughing, Margaret."

"You know what? We could eat," David says. "The food won't suffer if it sits a while, but all I had for lunch was a handful of nuts and I'm starving."

It's an out everyone wants, and once they're all seated and eating, he tries again to instigate pleasant conversation. “So. Audrey must like having her cast off.”

“She does. Started PT last week.”

“Is she painting?”

“Well, she can't quite grip a brush the way she wants to. We tried something...” It's awful dinner conversation but it's too late to not say it. “I tried to help her, and she sat on my lap and I held the brush and she moved my arm, but it didn't really work.”

“They had a big fight 'cause he was doing it wrong,” Jesse says. “Mama cried real loud and me an' daddy went to the store an' got beer and fudgesicles. Remember that?”

Rust nods and wishes he could disappear. Subjecting everyone to this shit show because he's too lazy to cook...

"Know what else, gramma?"

"What, sweetheart?"

"I destroyed my mom's body. When I was a baby."

"Naw. She thinks it's funny to say that but it's not true," Rust says, somehow even more uncomfortable than he was before. Jesse looks disappointed while Maggie sits forward, almost accusatory.

“Is she taking her meds?”

“She is, but I think she's just real sad. Her arm's all atrophied and she's got a lot of nerve pain. PT hasn't done much yet but we hope that'll change.”

“I know I say this all the time, but you can bring Jesse over anytime you like. We'd love to have him.” Jesse brightens and beams. “He could stay overnight in her old room, or even something more long-term, if that'd help you.”

“Thanks. I think we're okay, though.”

“Rust, don't be afraid to let us help you.”

“I'm not afraid,” he says, and Jesse frowns and focuses on his milk. “We just don't need it.”

*

The house has the transparent blue smell of Windex when they get home, which is an apology because no one's done any housekeeping outside of essential dishes and laundry for weeks. Audrey's in clothes, not pajamas, and sitting on the couch folding Jesse's tiny underpants from a laundry basket.  
  
"Mom, I ate salad that had fruit in it!" He stands in front of her and leans in for a tiny kiss. "It was strawberries."  
  
"Did you like it?"  
  
"Yeah!"  
  
"Good. Here, go put these drawers in your drawer." He takes the stack to his room and Rust sits down beside her.  
  
"Your mom sent a plate for you. I can heat it up, if you want."  
  
"I already ate. Thanks, though."  
  
“Thank you for all your work." She's still pink-eyed from crying and there's a delicate frailty about her up close. “You doin' better?”  
  
“Yeah. I'm fine." The lucid lie's expected and immediately forgiven. "You're right about Jess, though. And I don't mean to be shitty to you. I don't think you're just a paycheck.”

“I'm sorry." He tips close and kisses her forehead. "I shouldn'ta said that.”

“I was thinking about us," she says softly. "Like how no one ever thought it'd work out. I love what we have. You know that, right?"

"Sometimes," he says, just as Jesse races back and puts both hands on her knees.

"Mom, we had chicken. And there was blue cheese but it wasn't really blue and gramma made mine plain 'cause I didn't want to try it."

"I don't blame you. That stuff smells like dirty feet. Here, put your shirts away."

"Thanks. Thanks. Thanks."

A small notepad and pen rest by her thigh for drawing doodles to put in Jesse's pockets, but Rust stops himself from taking up the distraction. No more gauzy bullshit of making nice and smoothing over because he's scared of losing what he loves. "Please don't get upset at me for asking if you're taking your meds."

"I am," she says. "I just can't believe how long it's taking to feel right, and I can't complain about nerve pain to someone who's been stabbed and shot, you know?" It's strangely funny, and the coda comes out in a rush. "Something came out in therapy today. It's my fault for never telling you, but even though I was in New Orleans when the paperwork happened sometimes it bothers me that my name's not on the house."

Rust had no idea, hadn't even thought about it then or since. "We can fix that, easy," he says, and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. Touching her is so unfamiliar a brush of her earlobe feels like a pussywillow catkin straight out of a fairytale. Between that and the cheesecake V of her neckline, it's bordering on sensory overload that makes his mouth juice up. He swallows and covers with a joke. "We gotta get you outside. You're turning translucent. Like a thing that lives in a cave."

She smiles shyly and his thumb's suddenly in a cheek dimple on accident. It almost feels like the old them again and he remembers his big news.

"The book sold today."

She gives him a saucy look like he's not telling the truth. "Shut up."

"Give me the hairy eyeball all you want but we got forty two grand on the way," he says, and she's suddenly in his arms, kissing his face and laughing.

*

They put Jesse to bed, and when they settle into their own her leg hooks around him in their old prelude.  
  
“You serious?” Not a very romantic thing to say but it's been a long time. Their longest stretch ever, the last time well before she fell.

“If you don't want to that's fine.”

"No, I do." He shifts closer. "I always do. You know that."

Their kisses are awkward at first, dry and shy because they're not used to touching each other anymore. Hands run over her supposedly wrecked body, which Rust's loved even more since the alleged ruin. She's softer now, and a fingertip over faint ridges of old stretch marks moves him just as much as the bicuspid that's a micron smaller than the other, and the asymmetry in her nose that's so slight they'd been together two years before he saw it. All the imperfections add up to something much dearer than perfection, and it's got him back on board and raring to go.

She shivers when he mouths her breasts and he pushes himself hard up against her leg to prove just how much he's missed her. Touching, kissing...a hand ventures between her legs and he likes what he finds, but pawing through the nightstand drawer yields an empty condom box; it's been so long he can't remember using the last one and he whips it against the wall with hard snap. "Goddammit..."

"It's okay, you can just pull out."

"Need I remind you what happened the last time you said that?"

She's all Chessy smile and big eyes. "Would it be so terrible?"

Yeah, it would, and her nonchalance makes him angry. "Considering we've barely made eye contact in a month I don't think it's a good idea. I mean...it's good that we talked and all, but we aren't exactly close these days."

"I know, that's why I'm working on it." Nails scratch his inner thigh on the way to grab him and he recoils for his own protection.

"Audrey, goddamn-"

"Sshh, okay. We'll do other stuff." The claw hand loosens and she recedes back into someone he recognizes. "You like the other stuff."

"That I do." He nuzzles her neck and breathes deep to make sure it's really her. Arms wrap around him and he kisses down her front, then gets a hand behind one of her knees and cocks it up. A guy Travis used to drink with once told him to get good at eating pussy because it'd get him all the girls he could stand but no babies. He kisses and bites up the softness of her thigh...the taste of her is so distant he's almost forgotten it and his mouth floods from how much he loves this.

Neither of them hear the door click open. "Mama?"

Legs snap shut on Rust's head and the blankets pull up with a whoosh. "What, Jess?"

"I heard a sound."

"It's okay honey, everything's fine. Go back to bed."

"But what was the sound?"

"It was just a box. Daddy dropped a box."

"Oh." Jesse's little shape slumps against the door frame. "Where is he?"

"I'm under the covers tryin' to sleep," Rust says. "Get your butt back in bed, please."

"Mama?"

"Jess Martin, it's bedtime. You get one more question and that's it."

"What if I get to kindergarten and the teacher's mean?"

"All kindergarten teachers are nice."

"But what if I get a bad one?"

"Then we'll put you in a different class, okay? Now goodnight. Please close the door."

"Can I ask dad something?"

"This is gettin' mighty old, Jess Martin."

"If a chicken dies can it decide to turn into a ghost?"

"No. Now go to bed."

"Okay. Bye."

"'Night, kiddo. See you in the morning."

Audrey throws the covers back and Rust takes in a rush of cool, welcome air. Of course Jesse's left their door wide open.

"How shot's the mood?"

"One hundred and ten percent." Even with the door closed, if they make the slightest sound he might march back with fifteen questions about why. "Maybe when you get off work tomorrow we can take him to the park and wear him out."

"I hear you guys talking!" Jesse yells from his room

"I hear you not sleeping!" Audrey shouts in return, and Rust crawls back up to his pillow.

"We need a bigger goddamn house."

"No shit." She turns on her side and he fits up behind her; they've stayed on their own sides of bed for so long that it's unusual to be this close and their fingers lace together in a comforting truce. "Hey, Rust?"

"Mmm?"

"I know it's been weird lately and I haven't been good to you and I'm sorry."

"Hmm."

"Things are gonna be different starting tomorrow. Different and better. I promise."

He doesn't know what it means and probably doesn't want to. All he can do is squeeze her hand and hope it's true.

*

In the morning, he's swimming deep in a dream when a sound punctures his sleep. It's sharp but wet, like gutting a big fish.

At first it feels imaginary, but it comes again. And again.

He realizes the last time he heard it and sits up; morning light presses at the window's edge but a brighter sliver shines from under their half-bath door.

"Aud? You okay in there?"

"I'm sick." A sharp hiccup makes her whine. "Like stomach cramps and puking." Another retch, suppressed. "It feels like one of those stomach bugs that rips through you and disappears."

"You want me to go get gingerale? 7-Up?"

"You don't have to, but I'd drink it if you did."

Jesse's in their doorway, his eyes huge with worry. "Daddy?"

"You can wear your pjs but get somethin' on your feet 'cause we're going to the store. Your ma doesn't feel good. "

"Is she gonna die?"

"I'm fine, honey," Audrey says through the closed door. "We all get sick sometimes."

Rust dresses in yesterday's clothes and Jesse's serious and stoic as they race to the store and pick up bottles of Sprite, Schweppes, and Emetrol. He wants to hold the Emetrol in his lap on the drive home.

"Do you think she'll like this one the most?"

"Probably," Rust says, and swerves to avoid a motorcyclist that cuts them off mid-intersection; Jesse jerks in his seat and squeals while Rust's heart thumps like it's trying to make an escape. "What an asshole," he growls once they're safe on a straightaway. "Must be a rule that you gotta drive like a crazy person to have a motorcycle."

"Mama's friend has a motorcycle," Jesse says.

A chill tingles low in Rust's spine. "Mama's got a friend, huh?"

"Yeah. And he's got a motorcycle."

"Oh." It takes a moment; his brain won't even let him think it at first, but the stuff she said last night about not being good to him...

"I think I'm not supposed to tell you."

"That's okay," Rusts says, donning a false front of cheer. "Ain't nothing wrong with just talking about stuff, right? I'm not mad, not at your ma and definitely not at you, okay?"

Jesse's thinking hard about whether that's true. "Okay," he says cautiously, and Rust begins the most painful interrogation of his life.

"Do you know her friend's name?"

"No. But she does."

"Has he come over to our house?"

"Uh huh. One time when I takin' my nap I woke up and he was there."

"Ever see him anyplace else?"

"Dad, you missed the turn to our house."

"We're takin' the scenic route. Where else have you seen him?"

"The library. Or he meets us at the park sometimes."

"Is he old like me? I bet he's more like her age. Does that sound right?"

Jesse's confused, looking out the window. "Why are we going this way?"

"Does that sound right? Is he young or old?"

"I don't know."

"What happens when he's around? What do him and mama do?"

"I don't know. Talk."

"You ever see her hug or kiss him?"

"Ha! No!" The incredulity helps, a little. "But sometimes they shake hands."

He'll talk if this goes on too much more so Rust loops back around toward home. "Let's not tell her we talked about this, okay? Let's just be sweet so she feels better."

Jesse agrees to that and they park and go in the house; Rust's senses are on high alert but nothing seems unusual. Audrey's up and about in her geisha robe, pale but mobile with a piece of buttered toast.

"Mama, I got this important medicine for you."

"Thank you, honey." She reads the label and sets it aside. "This looks good. I'll take some right away."

“Maybe I'll take the day off," Rust offers, looking close to gauge her reaction. "I could keep an eye on Jess and help you out, if you need it."

"Nah. I'm fine."

"But what if it comes back?”

“It won't.” She swats him away with a flirty smile. “Go to work.”

“Aud-”

“Go to work and maybe we can do something fun when you get home,” she says, as if it's the carrot he'll follow no matter what. "Like send Jess over to JeanTierre's and pick up where we left off last night."

It's a big turnaround considering she was puking her guts out only minutes ago.

But then the mess untangles in Rust's head and he almost needs to sit down.

They haven't had sex since before Jesse's birthday, so two months, maybe three...the last time must've been back in August, when Jesse was down at Ruby's house and they did it on the couch, then again in the bedroom. And they'd used protection. Except for that one time that got them a baby, they always did.

If she's throwing up because she's knocked up, it isn't with his kid.

He keeps his voice too low for Jesse to hear. "Any special reason you're so bent on us fucking tonight?"

"Uh, because I love you and it's been a really long time?"

Rust stares the blankest stare he has, but she gives it right back. There's a hazy immunity about her; in his inattentiveness, she's become a better liar and she's got a Kix box in front of her as a subconscious obstacle between them. "Pretty fuckin' strange how we're so careful but you didn't care last night. And now we got ourselves a date night, huh?"

"I thought so, but if it's such a big problem for you, forget it. Why are you looking at me like that?"

Jesse's five feet away and this can't blow up...not now.

"We're about due for a big talk, you and me."

"Hey mama, I need to ask you a thing."

"In a minute." She sets the cereal box aside and her hands protectively ring his shoulders. "Rust, what the hell is your problem? Are you seeing things?"

A search of her eyes reveals there's nothing there. No love, no fear, nothing. He looks away. "I'm goin' to work early."

"Fine. Please don't be like this when you come home."

"Mama, listen to me. You said you'd take that medicine and you aren't."

"Okay. Watch." She turns her back to Rust, takes out a spoon, and Jesse's so pleased when she swallows it down.

*

The silent roar of the empty office is a déjà vu to what his life once was, and he ought to prime for the confrontation that's coming but the whole mess is a colorless fuzz over his shoulder that he can't quite think about, like Sophia sometimes. It's the biggest thing he's got going but he can't even look at it.

The gravel crunch of Marty's car pulling up pings his ear and he hopes they can just work separate today, but of course he can't be that lucky.

"Hey, Rust." Marty rolls in, tense and not quite able to meet his eyes.

"'Morning."

"Uh, I got a weird call last night from Maggie. She's, um, sorta worried about you guys. Doesn't think Audrey's happy and claims Jess isn't getting proper care. I said she was all wrong, but ain't none of that true, right?"

A cold pain creeps up his ass and into his gut. To think this is the least of his problems. “Not a word of it. We're fine."

"Yeah, well...I promised I wouldn't say nothin' but she said something 'bout if it gets any worse from her vantage point she's gonna talk to a lawyer."

The coldness spikes. "About what?"

"She didn't even really know. You gotta understand, Maggie's got no idea what a household like yours is like 'cause she didn't grow up in it and she's got way too much time to obsess on stuff nowadays. She's just worried about Jess and doesn't think his environment's what it should be."

The opposite of love is indifference and Rust's ridden that wave for years but right now, he hates Maggie with everything he's got.

"Thanks for telling me. I appreciate it"

"Yeah, well..." Marty grits his teeth - he's gotten used to their situation but never wanted to have conversations like this. "Audrey's on her meds, right?"

"She's not actin' like when she goes off 'em but I'll find out." She's still not being irrational or abusive, though trying to pin another man's baby on him might qualify as the latter.

“How much you drinkin' these days?”

“Not near enough for all this attention. Look, all this fretting about what's best for Jess, nobody wants that more than me. Nobody. Not you, not even Maggie."

“I know, but family and business...it's all connected and if there's somethin' going on you gotta say."

"We're fine." It comes out a little too loud, and Marty backs off to his own office, probably just as worried as when he'd come up.

Jesse's framed watercolor on the wall bears the brightness of a better time and Rust knows they rushed into this. With a baby on the way they had to and he'll never be sorry, but he can't help thinking he's a phase Audrey's outgrown. House, happiness...he's enjoying quite a second act but it's only her first and she's had plenty of time to think about it lately. It's interesting how she's drifted so far away, only to be lured back by the aphrodisiac of a book advance.

It's suddenly hard to swallow. He never says it enough but he loves her, and he can't fathom sharing his son with a new boyfriend, much less a husband. The Texas jabs might be jokes or he might be blowing off something she actually wants, and either way it's too late. All the lovingness last night felt so warm and real but it couldn't have been.

She prefaced it by asking for the house.

Lying's much easier than telling the truth when he goes downstairs. "I gotta leave. I left a thumb drive at home," he says, and Marty looks at him tiredly.

"Whatever you got goin' on I hope you straighten it the hell out."

"Makes two of us," Rust mutters, and heads out the door.

On the way home he picks up a pregnancy test at a drugstore and gets a sympathetic look along with his receipt. Part of him wants to go back to when he was alone and had time to dissect the pain that plagued him. Jesse's existence aside, none of this makes sense. She shouldn't be with him. Some part of them always knew that.

_Men, women. It's not supposed to work._

This is probably his fault for forgetting that.

He turns onto their street, dreading what's to come though his heart lifts a bit at Jesse making colored chalk stripes on the concrete verticals of their front steps. “Dad!” he shouts and waves. His skinny arms are powdered with multicolored dust and the sidewalk's covered with drawings, legions of people with circle-hands and ten long fingers each. A family of giraffes with spots that transcend their bodies.

“These are real nice, Jess.”

“It's a circus. I even made a special feature.”

He does this, picks up a phrase from grownups or television and drops it into conversation. “Okay, show me.”

A thin blue line trails off the hump of the sidewalk curb and out into the street. “It's a tightrope. To JeanTierre's house."

“Wow.” The panic and rage are barely containable. “Did mama help you make this?”

“No.”

The whole world tilts on its axis and it's like he's in freefall, a crumb flaking off a globe. “Did she watch you make this?”

“No. She's takin' a nap.”

“Has she been doin' that all morning?” Jesse shrugs to say he doesn't know and trembling hands lay on his tiny shoulders. “You know you're not supposed to be out in the street.”

“I looked both ways.”

“That's good, but you shouldn't be out here at all unless you have a grownup with you." Bile presses up but he's controlling it; Jesse can't know he's about to crack. "You know that, right?”

His little nose wrinkles. “Am I in trouble?”

“No, but I'll tan your hide with a belt if it ever happens again.” He never would, but Jesse saw it in a western once and believes it's the worst thing that can happen. “Have you seen your ma's motorcycle friend today?”

"No."

"Good. Now come on inside with me."

He gets the pumpkin bucket of petrified Halloween candy from on top of the fridge and sends Jesse to his room, which isn't exactly punishment because he likes categorizing all the pieces as much he likes eating them. “You can have two things,” Rust says before closing the door. “An' just play quiet for a little bit.”

Audrey's in their bedroom, half under the covers and dead to the world. “Audrey. Wake up.” Her good arm's limp as rubber and her breath smells chemical.

“Audrey Hart, wake the fuck up.”

“What? Why?”

He yanks her up with force he instantly regrets and she starts fighting him before she's on her feet. “Let go! That _hurts!”_

“Hold it together in front of the neighbors,” he says, and drags her to the door. “There's something outside you need to see.”

"What the fuck is your problem? Let go of me!"

"Settle down," he says, grip tight on her bicep, and they get out to the curb and stop.

The significance of the blue line doesn't hit her at first.

“It's a tightrope he drew to JeanTierre's house,” Rust says, tears pressing hard at his nose and eyes. “You know how he chalk-draws down on his hands and knees? It goes all the way across the fucking street, Audrey.”

She puts a hand over her mouth. "Oh my God."

“Goddammit...I can't lose another kid to a car.”

She runs back to the house, buckling into hysteria while Rust counters by walking slow and staying as calm as he can. He stands over her cowering on the couch and for a moment she's a stranger, a suspect swallowed by remorse only at being caught. "Where is he? He's okay, right?"

"He's in his room but you gotta listen to me. This could probably be classified as endangerment and he could've been in the CPS system before you even fuckin' woke up. We can't keep on this way, Aud. You gotta tell me what's going on with you.”

She nods, hands pressed to her eyes.

“Tell me everything. And start by telling me who the motorcycle guy is."

She looks up through the fringe of her hair. "You know about that?"

"Our son said you let him into our fucking house."

She speaks into the unfolded book of her hands and sobs. "He's my dealer. Okay. Rust...it's just Vicodin. But...it's a lot.”

“How much?”

“Like twenty a day. Thirty, I don't know.”

“How long?”

“Almost since the beginning. With my arm. I didn't think it was that bad, but then...” Her body tightens in on itself and he fears the worst.

“Tell me how you been paying for it.”

“Out of my own account. Sometimes with our money. But...” She sobs a mangled string of apologies. “I've been snorting it, okay? I tried to quit last night that's why I got sick this morning. I'm sorry. I fucked up and I'm sorry and I'll try again. Like, taper off, or..." A fresh wave of sobs hits her. "Don't leave me. I know it's been bad but I love you and...just please don't leave."

Rust grinds his teeth and thinks. He sinks to sit beside her and the air's still and stale and it should feel good to know, but it doesn't. He's ashamed for not knowing, livid about Jesse in the street, and worried for what this means for all of them. “We'll get through this, but you gotta decide you're done. And for fuck's sake factor Jesse in.”

"I know." She quakes and gets smaller and he reaches out to touch her, realizing that aside from last night, he hasn't felt this close to her in months. He's been lax and inattentive, so this is part on him, too.

“We have to tell your parents.”

"No." Nails bite into his forearm. "We can't."

"Audrey-"

"No! Mom'll try to take Jesse away!”

“I'll never let her. She already knows something's wrong, she called your dad last night worried about you two. We can't hide this, Aud. You gotta get help."

She sits up straighter, still sad but curious. "Like...rehab?"

"Uh huh." He looks at the floor and swallows hard. "We'll use the advance money and send you to the best one we can find."

She shakes her head. "We can't spend that on shit like this. Let me try again. I can quit, I know I can."

"I'm not okay with you trying to knock this by yourself. And you're right, I don't think your ma's gonna leave us alone." In the pause he notices that last night's dusting was sloppy - a thick gray border rims a low dish of succulents and Jesse's stack of library books. Their whole household's half-assed and plenty of it's his fault.

A plan starts to solidify. "While you get clean I might take Jess up north with me and write. Get away from all the shit here and get it done so I'm not shorting your dad anymore."

She wipes her eyes. “North where?”

“Alaska, maybe.”

“I thought you had bad memories.”

“Not not all of 'em are,” he says. “And it'd be good for us 'cause we've got a lot of undecided business to think over. Like we'll talk all fuckin' day about barbecue and French doors but we don't talk about anything important anymore."

Things like Texas.

Things like getting snipped.

Things like how and when to tell Jesse about his sister and what it means for the family that dad's twice as old as mom.

She wipes her eyes again and exhales a long sigh. "Okay. I'll go."

The long, stretched silence clouds out the sharp edges of what needs to happen and there's a natural drift to the past. How they started, how it's gone on, worked and not worked. She's thinking it, too, and looks over and notices the thin box sticking out of his shirt pocket. "Is that a pregnancy test?"

_Fuck._

"Uh, the way you were carryin' on in the bathroom this morning I thought maybe you were. 'Course it'd have to be immaculate conception," he jokes, but she knows.

"That's why you were so goddamn weird this morning. You think I'm fucking someone else."

He reddens and tries to dig himself out. "The way it's been lately I didn't know what to think, okay? I'm sorry." Her tears get deeper and quieter and she elbows him away on her way to stand. "Audrey-"

"I don't know how you could think that about me. I'd never do that to you. Ever. Like...of all the shit we've been through..." He's never seen this face before, and she isn't pretty; she's at the end of her rope. "I've never once felt bad about us until now. No. Don't touch me."

"I'm gonna ask you to please be careful and don't get any more fucked up than you already are," he says, but their bedroom door shuts with a bang.

Jesse's not in his room, and Rust panics until he finds him in the garage, chocolate-smeared and hiding under the workbench with his candy bucket and wide eyes. “Am I in trouble?”

“No. Now come on out, no one's arguing anymore and you need to come back in the house."

He holds the plastic pumpkin aloft. "You want a candy?"

"I'd love one. Thanks." Rust fishes out a Jolly Rancher he doesn't particularly want and leads Jesse back inside. "You can watch all the Animal Planet you want while me and your ma have a talk but your butt better not leave that couch."

"Why?"

"Because you've been all over the place today and it's too damn much."

Jesse takes the remote control and is already tuning out of the conversation. "Okay."

It's a surprise to find that the bedroom door isn't locked. Audrey's sitting on her side of the bed, waiting for him and he talks low and slow and she reluctantly agrees to everything he says.

Research is done and calls are made; the timing works out well.

She can't get in until a few days after Christmas.  
  
*  
  
Marty and Maggie are invited over on a Saturday afternoon and only Maggie doesn't know why. She surveys the house as usual, wishing better for Audrey but trying to hide it. "Did you take your Christmas tree down early?"

Their lackluster holiday had been spent at her house, not their own. "We didn't put one up this year."

"Oh. Wasn't Jesse disappointed?" She looks around curiously. "Where is he, by the way?”

“He's across the street playing with a friend.”

“When's he coming back?”

“There's a reason it's just us,” Audrey says, and Maggie's face becomes half excitement, half horror.

"Oh." She swallows. "Are you...pregnant?”

“No." Audrey's suddenly aware of Jesse's crusty lunch dishes still out on the kitchen counter and how small their house is. "Please sit down." They're all looking at her, and she takes a deep breath and says, "I've been taking a lot more pain medication than I should and I can't stop.”

“Oh no. Oh God...”

“Don't blame Rust because I've hidden it from him. But...it's gotten bad. I'm checking into rehab tomorrow.”

“We found her a place in Arizona with a good ninety day success rate,” Rust says, feeling like the paternalistic force none of them ever wanted to see him as.

Maggie sits forward, concerned. Brave. To the rescue. “I wish we'd known. We could've helped you.”

“I never would've taken it," Audrey says, face crumpling as Marty leans over to put an arm around her. "I'm sorry, dad."

“It's okay, honey. This is good that you're fixing it.”

Maggie looks blanched. “Don't those kinds of places cost fifty thousand dollars?” she asks, and Audrey blinks tears, fat tracks pulling mascara down her face when Rust nods. “Can we help with that?”

“It's taken care of.”

“It must've been a big hit for you,” she says, and horrible silence confirms it. “There has to be something I can do. I can watch Jesse while you're at work.”

Marty looks at the floor. “He ain't gonna be workin' while Audrey's away."

“Can you afford that? No offense, but Rust, you could make a ton of money on gulf rigs, even just in a few months. I'd be happy to take him off your hands.”

Rust nods slight thanks but knows she only cares about taking Jesse off his hands. “We're going up to Alaska for the ninety days plus a little extra, and when Aud's clean we're gonna decide what's next. For all three of us.”

“Excuse me, _where?"_

"Alaska. Because I need quiet and I suspect I wouldn't get it here."

"No. This is abduction. This...”

“Mom, stop it,” Audrey cries. “I want this.”

"You have no business caring for him alone. With all due respect, Rust, I know you're trying but there's no way you can handle it by yourself. You can barely handle it with two of you.”

“Now hold on a goddamn minute,” he says with such force even Marty sits straighter. “That was true when he was new and you know we're grateful for your help. But don't you dare say that about us now."

Eyes narrow and it's like looking into a mirror of years-long resentment so caustic it's visible on the outside. "We'll see what an attorney has to say about all this."

"I already talked to one and you won't get third-party custody in a million years so don't even try.”

“But you can't do this. You can't just take him!”

“Mom-”

“Audrey, are you high right now? This minute?”

"Really? Do you think this is helping?"

“Let's everybody calm down,” Marty says. “Let's all just calm down and talk this out."

Maggie digs in for another skirmish and Rust stands up. “The longer we do this the less time she has with Jess before tomorrow,” he says, and calmly walks over to open the front door. “I'm sorry, but I'm callin' it. Y'all gotta go.”

"This isn't necessary," Maggie insists.

"Yeah, well it ain't your house."

"Audrey, tell him you want us to stay."

"But I don't. It won't do any good."

"I know this is hard and I'm sorry," Rust repeats. "But y'all gotta go."

Marty thinks he's an exception, and when it's clear he isn't the tears spill out and he takes Audrey in his arms. "You'll stay in touch with us, right?"

“We're supposed to focus on ourselves, not people at home, and we can call out if we really need to but I'm gonna try not to 'cause I want to do it right. Anyway, my cell's gone 'cause...certain people have that number.”

"That's good. I'm proud of you already, sweetheart. I love you so much."

"Thanks, dad. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Just take care of yourself."

"I will."

He's reluctant to let her go and Maggie's teary and sorry about how little time they have now. “Honey, I know it comes out wrong sometimes but I only want what's best for you.”

"I know." She allows a hug but doesn't quite relax into it.

"You call if you need anything. Anything at all. Rust, you too."

"Thanks," he says, and nods toward the door.

The sounds of them leaving are like the start of a movie that's all incidental noise and no plot. Clicks. Closure. Audrey watches from the window; before they get in their separate cars, they talk on the sidewalk and she has absolutely no guess what they're saying.

Her bag's already packed. The center emailed Rust a list and he took care of it all and once again it's like she's floating, barely there and anchored by something someone else did. There's a tired dip to his shoulders and a wounded openness that she once would've tried to close up with baking and blowjobs. It seems right to thank him with the currency he likes as much as any other

"Since we've got the house to ourselves," she says quietly. "We could mess around real quick, if you want to. I don't know when else we'll have any privacy."

They're ten feet apart and still woefully out of synch but Rust will take what he can get. "Yeah."

"Okay. Give me a minute."

She ducks into their bathroom while Rust sits on the bed's edge and undoes his shirt buttons. They still don't have condoms but there's plenty else they can do...blood rushes through his ears at the thought of hunkering down on his elbows and working on her till she screams out his name and pulls his hair, but he hears the quiet tap-tap-tap of pills crushed under the bottom of a water glass and it all dissolves. She comes out with a dull counterfeit interest in her eyes and he understands the depth of trouble they're in.

"If you gotta get fucked up to go to bed with me then I'd rather not."

Surprise registers slowly, followed by muted anger. "I'm not."

"Audrey..." It bites at his heart. "I can't be with you like this," he says, and she smiles like it's all a joke, then, in a delayed reaction, her anger calcifies.

"Then I guess you're not getting any tonight, either."

"I guess not. Excuse me."

He brushes past her and walks out of the house and over the fading blue tightrope to get his son.

*

The drive to the airport's so early in the morning there's almost no emotion to it. He carries her things, buckles Jesse in and goes through all the motions without speaking. Audrey's apologized three or four times since waking up but they slide right off him.

"Have a good trip." He says goodbye with a platonic kiss and stands back so Audrey can have Jesse all to herself. He doesn't say he knows how low she's drained their savings account. He doesn't say that he's always known this was doomed because no one he loves ever stays.

Audrey mashes Jesse's hair down. “Be good for daddy,” she says, stroking his face a little too hard. “Do what he says and we'll all be home soon. I love you, honey. I love you so much.”

He's fine until she stands. “Mama, no.” He sticks to her leg and Rust has to pry him off.

“Jess, it's okay.” She's high, but not too high to cry. “Go with daddy.”

“Come on, now. It's okay," Rust says with a gentle tug. "She'll be back soon.” Jesse darts for her again and starts bawling when Rust snatches him up in his arms.

Audrey blinks tears. “I'm sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too,” Rust says, and can't get near her because Jesse's trying to reach out and grab her. Tears prick at his eyes and he's sorry he didn't find out sooner, didn't try harder. “Call us as soon as you're out."

"Mama, no! No!"

Rust closes his big hand around Jesse's little one as it stretches out and grabs at empty air. "I better get him home. We love you. Good luck.”

“Don't give up on me when I'm in there.”

“We won't.”

She walks toward security and Jesse knees Rust in the stomach, right up against his scar and it _hurts._ "Jess," he says through clenched teeth. "Don't do that again."

He holds him too tight to squirm and the fussing's mostly over by the time he's buckled into his carseat. "Mama's going to a special school for grownups and it'll make all of us happier," he says, tightening the straps and hoping his own feelings aren't visible. "It'll be hard to miss her but you're a big boy now and you'll get used to it."

His blue eyes look almost adult. "No. I'll never get used to it."

At home, a dram of Jameson finds its way into Rust's morning orange juice and the house is eerily quiet. It's partly because the television's off, and Jesse flings himself on the couch, half slid off and bent back at an angle only a child can manage.

"How about no TV just yet. Let's get on the computer and look at the cabin pictures again."  
  
Jesse grumbles but complies and Rust suspects he doesn't fully understand what's going to happen. This couldn't have been easy for pop with a two year old, but it's also no picnic with one of four.  
  
"Okay, here we go," he says, and clicks to the bookmark he's looked at often in recent days like a guilty pleasure. His literal escape.  
  
The online listing has six pictures in all, the first of the exterior. It's a low-slung rectangle in a mountainside clearing, the photo taken in the muddy mess of spring. The metal roof's steep-pitched for snow slide, and its heyday was probably in the seventies but it's the Taj Mahal compared to the hand-hewn shack Rust grew up in. "There's the kitchen and the living room all in one." He clicks further. "And we'll build fires in that wood stove." A tiny bathroom and bedroom are behind a wall of the main room, the furnishings of every section arranged to maximize the heat sink of the stove in the center. Rust appreciates the engineering and looks forward to seeing in person, right down to the thick Army surplus wool blankets on the bed.  
  
"For how long are we gone?"  
  
"Almost a hundred days."  
  
"That's so long!"  
  
"Well it could be longer. And at the end your ma's gonna come stay with us for a while and then we'll all come back here. Think you can handle that?"  
  
"I guess."  
  
He loses interest and slides off Rust's lap to execute his original plan to watch television while Rust sweeps down the listing to the familiar property details. It'll cost about twice what he thought it would but that hasn't changed his mind. Between this, the savings that went up Audrey's nose, and the Louisiana mortgage, this trip won't quite be the idle writers retreat he wanted, but he'll figure out a job if he has to. Alaska's always been a positive avuncular force for him that way. He always seems to land on his feet.  
  
He gets a good few pages written and celebrates with a shot.  
  
Another flies down the hatch around noon when an intake counselor calls to confirm that Audrey made it.  
  
The burn soaks into his chest; it's real now. Either the start of a new chapter or the beginning of the end and he finds himself in their bedroom with an old t-shirt she left draped on the closet doorknob.  
  
Jesse's suddenly there, a tiny shadow behind him. "Daddy, I wanna smell it, too."


	3. in Alaska

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It took over a year to write this damn thing. If you like it, I'd love to hear it! Thanks for reading. <3

It takes a week to close up the house and then they're on an airplane themselves. It's been discussed at length, but when the nose tips up and they start climbing the air Jesse panics.

“We're gonna fall out of the sky!”

Rust closes a hand on his knee. “It's always a little rough at the beginning, bud. It's okay.”

“Daddy, it's too loud! We're gonna fall!”

Rust understands his concern given that they're surrounded by plastic walls and hurtling toward the sun, and even though the FAA would have a problem with it, he unbuckles him and holds him tight to his chest until they're both sweaty. “It's okay,” he says over and over, stroking his soft hair. “It'll get better once we're up high. Shh, think about stuff you like. Think about McDonalds.”

“What are you thinking about?” Jesse warbles tearfully.

“The birthday tent your mom made on the clothesline.”

“It had twinkle lights inside.”

“It sure did."

"I wanna think about that,” he cries. “Not McDonalds.”

“Then do.”

“Okay." He whimpers and burrows closer. “Okay.”

It gets better as the trip wears on - they play Tic-Tac-Toe and Jesse takes a handful of short catnaps while Rust relaxes into the necessary helplessness of air travel. There's a layover in Dallas and another at LAX, and each time they board a new plane Jesse's more confident. The in-flight movies help. A healthy fascination with the workings of the tiny steel bathroom does, too.

It's well after midnight when they touch down in Anchorage and their breath's visible even in the shelter of the connecting jet bridge. "Daddy, it looks like I'm smoking. Look at me."

"Gotta keep moving," Rust says, gently keeping him with the herd of others they'd been packed with for so long. The inside of his mouth feels painted with drycleaning chemicals and he's so tired his eye sockets ache.

Jesse's drawn to the taxidermy displays inside the terminal - bears, a nine foot halibut, and everything in-between, but Rust hustles him past with the promise that they'll have time on their way home. He plucks their bags off the silver scales of the baggage carousel and they step outside and shiver at the raw chill in the air. "We'll get you a good winter coat tomorrow," Rust promises, and a pained look creases Jesse's face as he stuffs his hands in his armpits and tries to keep warm.

They take a short shuttle ride to their beds for the night. The hotel lobby's an assault of bright light and brown and cherry-colored squares, and Jesse sags against the check-in desk while Rust exchanges one type of plastic for another.

On the slow-motion trudge to their room he swears their bags have gained weight, and he lazily drops them so close to the door it won't shut at first. He nudges them further in and helps Jesse untie his double knotted shoelaces.

"You sure did a lot of new stuff today. You've never been on a plane or in a hotel before."

"Yeah, and I never saw snow or bears or a fish that big."

He's never spent a single night away from home now that Rust thinks about it, and guilt prevents him from looking at his boy's face. Less than a minute ago he'd been tempted to not dig through all their crap for pajamas but he does, gets Jesse into the good old flannel spaceships and tucks him into bed.

"Are you gonna sleep far away in that other bed?"

"Not if you want me with you."

"With me."

Rust does the bare minimum to get ready and enjoys a painless pop in his spine as he stretches out. He rests a hand on Jesse's arm and they both fall under right away, warm and safe in sleep as blank and wide as the sky.

*

Morning is disorienting, almost nine and still dark as an asshole when they're cleaned up and awake enough to eat. Jesse's infatuated by the funny steel box at the breakfast bar that slowly spits out pancakes with the press of a button, and Rust has to remind him three times not to make more than they can eat. He works on coffee and prefab eggs that remind him of fishing season, and when the sun strains to greet them around ten o'clock he calls a cab and they wait in the lobby with bags that have somehow reverted to their correct weight.

"Good thing you had a big breakfast," Rust says. "You're gonna need the energy 'cause we're about to go on a shopping spree."

A great many things happen in a short stretch of time. At an awful car dealership with a misplaced apostrophe Rust drops just under a thousand on a rusted-out retired Forest Service truck in that chalky signature green he's always liked. It has the requisite snow tires and four wheel drive and provisions go in the back - non-perishables that will cost a lot more where they're going, a toddler bed from WalMart, and a blue puffer jacket that makes Jesse look like a blueberry. After a quick cruise through a McDonalds drive-thru, they head south.

The truck's alignment pulls about five degrees to the left, and even though it hadn't cost much Rust wishes he'd paid less. "Alaska ought to have a truck library."

"What's that?"

"Well, it's not a real thing but it'd work like a book library. You could check out a truck and bring it back when you're done and it's time to go home." Selling it back at a loss is more or less the same thing, but he likes it better framed his way.

"But what if people want to stay?"

Rust doesn't have an answer because his nose stings a little. Pop hadn't wanted to be anywhere else.

It's hard not to think about him when they turn off AK-1, and the sign that lists the remaining mileage to Happy Valley takes Rust back so far it hurts. "If we drove straight instead of takin' the turnoff we'd end up where I used to live,” he says. “When I was as little as you.”

“Nuh uh! You were never little! You never lived here!”

“Sure I did, a long time ago.” He'd made a pilgrimage to their old cabin in-between fishing seasons years back and there wasn't much left of it outside a diminishing outline and laccolith of the old hearth. It didn't stir up half the bullshit he thought it might, though it still kicked up enough.

*

The cabin's just what Rust expected from the pictures and bears hallmarks he remembers from living at this latitude - faceless cupboards under both sinks for air circulation and a mineral-crusted pie tin for water on top the wood stove. It even smells right, like old smoke with an unknown thickness about it, and it's already so familiar. It's perfect.

Jesse stalks around with a scowl to show he doesn't like it. “This house is too cold to live in.”

“Not for long. Come help me find the woodshed out back.”

It's a nondescript little structure, but it holds a luxury as outrageous as a red Ferrari: four cords, dry as a bone.

If pop weren't already dead he'd die if he knew Rust had paid for firewood, but electric baseboard heat's a bigger money suck than Tucson boutique rehab so there's no other way. There's a big oak block nearby and a nice old Wetterlings axe tacked to the shed's wall so at least he's splitting it himself.

Jesse stands by and squeezes little ridged snow shapes in his new mittens and eats them. “You warm enough?” Rust asks.

“Uh huh.”

“Good. Your name's Jesse Cohle, not Jesse Cold.”

His eyes are like sled dog eyes against the snow and Rust gives no instructions but it's exactly like it was with pop: he swings the axe and Jesse collects the smaller wedges that tip off onto the ground and stacks them in the canvas sling laid out on the snow.

“My pop an' I used to do this,” Rust says. “'Cept we used to cut down trees ourselves.”

_THUNK._

Absolutely nothing compares to the the feel of arms and axe cleaving through decades of old rings. “There was none of this fancy business where a guy brings it by and stacks it up all nice. We'd cut old snags every spring and it'd be nice and dry by the time it got cold.”

Jesse looks skeptical. “You have a pop?”

“Yeah,” Rust says. “Everybody's got one.”

“Is he old? Like Santa Claus?”

“No, he wasn't much like Santa. He was sorta like me, I guess. A little meaner. But he's not here anymore.”

“Is he in heaven?”

Good question. “He might be.”

“Did you have a mama, too?”

“I did, but she went away and I didn't see her much.”

“Why? Were you bad?”

He's wondered that his whole life and still hasn't done much to work it out. “I don't know why she left."

“I don't know why mine did, either.”

“Jesse Martin Cohle, don't ever say that. It's the saddest thing in the world and it ain't even true. We've talked about this now, where is she?”

“At grownups school.”

“Right. And we'll see her after she's done.”

He grips further up the handle to split kindling, which Jess arranges upright in an old tin bucket that's too heavy for him to carry. Rust lugs all his handiwork into the house and could just about melt over all of this, the familiarity of it all and Jesse's pink cheeks and those tiny mittens. It's hard to believe he was even smaller, freezing his baby ass off and following pop around, but then he feels pop's shadow following him and even jumps when he sees it against the wall; despite the age gap between Travis then and Rust now, their silhouette's almost the same. Stuck up here with a confused little boy who wants no part of it...how did he not see this until now?

He can't dwell on it because there's too much to do. "Okay.” The bucket drops with a clang by the wood stove. “We need a few more groceries and then we'll come back and make a fire. Toast up some marshmallows or something.”

“Where's the TV?”

“There ain't one.”

“Can we get one?”

“We can barely get brand name cornflakes,” Rust says, which Jesse shrugs off as meaningless. “Think about what you want from the store and we'll make a list.”

“I want a TV.”

“Fine. If JoJo's Valley Market has one for sale we'll get it."

It's easy to say because he knows JoJo's won't. But they do have a fair assortment of grotesquely overpriced groceries, including a blue box of easy-peel Mandarin oranges Jesse recognizes from home. It costs a small fortune but Rust can't say no.

Booze is priority number two, and they enter one of the bars where he'd held under-the-table employment in-between last decade's fishing seasons. The moment they step inside Jesse's eyes lock on the corner-mounted television; he doesn't care about hockey, but he's transfixed.

Rust doesn't recognize the bartender and eyes the high shelf overhead, thankful this place still considers itself a package store. “Y'all got Jameson one-point-seven-fives?”

“Sorry. Just fifths.”

“I'll take four,” he says as Jesse climbs up onto a torn pleather stool. “And a double since it looks like we're stayin'. Thanks.”

Rust gets his drink and the bartender sets a scalloped paper round in front of Jesse. “You want a Roy Rogers?”

He looks to Rust. “Do I?”

“Yeah. You'll like it.”

They drink in silence, Jess contentedly fixed on an Allstate commercial when a softened old man comes in from the back, squinting in the dim.

“I'll be damned, I wondered it was you."

"Hey, Sheck."

"We quit stocking those big bottles when you left.”

“Maybe I shoulda stayed,” Rust says, and stands for the incoming handshake. “Good to see you. This is my boy Jesse.”

“Up at the bar with a lowball, figured he had to be yours.” Jesse gets a wink. “What brings you back?”

“Had to get away from some stuff and wanted some quiet.”

“This little guy give it to you?”

“Sometimes,” Rust says, and Jesse smiles faintly. “Listen, I was wondering...you need any help around here?”

“'Fraid not, but you know the warehouse always needs somebody.”

“Yeah." He'd wanted to work here because Day Shift Dusty always brought her two kids and nobody cared. "His mother's diametrically opposed to daycare and I'm hoping not to work at all. Just thought I'd ask."

“If you get stuck, Miss Nancy's Tot Time's where most people take theirs. Can't be too bad.” Then quiet, out the side of his mouth, “Where's his ma?”

“Rehab.”

“Oh.” He looks Jesse over with a warm sympathy and drops an extra maraschino cherry in his drink.

*

Jesse's still on Central time and slips in and out of a couch nap while Rust builds a fire and assembles the toddler bed, which will stay in the living room close to the warmth of the wood stove and brick surround. He can't fault pop for all the things he did wrong, but there's no way in hell his boy will ever know the sharp pain of being so cold a shiver stretches into one long cramp. He'll burn down the entire Chugach National Forest keeping him warm if he has to.

The scent and snap of wood heat sweeps him back decades and he sits on the floor to look at the sleeping face that's more him than Audrey, the little curled hands and blond-gold waves. The thought that pop might've ever watched him like this makes his tongue ache for the liquid sedative he just bought four bottles of, but Jesse squirms awake and needs to be reminded where he is.

"We're in Alaska. Remember the snow?"

He stirs a little more then sinks back down. "Oh."

"It's way past Louisiana dinnertime. You hungry?"

"I think so."

Rust cooks up some cheesy eggs with peas and they read some of the books Jesse brought - Polar Bear Morning, then Polar Bear Night and Supertruck. Then they unpack their clothes and read them all over again. “There's not much to do without a TV," Rust says. "We'll have to entertain ourselves."

"Can we sing There's a Hole in the Bucket Dear Liza?"

"Sure. There's a hole in the bucket..."

"Dear Liza, Dear Liza. There's a hole in the bucket dear Liza, a hole!"

It's unusual that Jesse's participation wanes three verses in.

"Hey, I'm not singing if you ain't gonna help me."

"I just want to listen." He lays on the floor and traces colors through the braided rag rug with his fingertip while dad finishes the song and makes his bed up with new sheets and blankets. He gets a little lost in the patterns and is pulled back only when asked if he wants cocoa.

Of course he does, and without even realizing the switch, he's comfortable. The fire gives the place a nice glow and dad isn't smiling but he seems happy. He wraps him up in a blanket on his lap, facing the low orange coals of the fire.

"I'm proud of you for being so good on that long trip," Rust says. He's quietly pleased surveying the little bed made up perfectly with a fat new pillow, all their books lined up on the plain plywood shelf, and their boots by the front door. "You think you could live here a little while?"

"Mm hmm," Jesse sighs and snuggles into him. "Who lives here when we aren't here?"

"I don't know. Maybe hunters in the fall. Maybe people from cities who want some quiet so they can think."

"When does mama get here?"

"Not for a while. It's gonna be just us men for a little bit."

His giggle is like music. "I'm not a man!"

"Oh come on. A little bit, you are."

*

It starts as near idyll. The cold Rust remembers hating isn't as bad as he remembers...it's probably global warming, but maybe it's softened somehow to welcome him back. Every day he appreciates the heightened senses that come with silent, crisp air and Jesse thinks it's hilarious that they use Hawaiian coconut sunscreen to protect them from sunlight bouncing off the infinite snow. The lines at the corners of pop's eyes were pure white toward the end of his life, and Travis blamed it on squinting but Rust knew at least a little of it came from smiling.

He fills the brief, blinding sunlight of their television-free days with little walks and nature lessons, like how lichen only grows on the north side of trees and don't mess with white berries because they're probably poisonous. It's pure joy to watch Jess take it all in, learn and ask questions. In the quiet isolation, he's never felt this close to him. Sometimes they write at opposite sides of the table with mugs of coffee and cocoa, and when Jesse gets bored he decides the woodshed is his own cabin and uses it like a playhouse, rearranging wood and talking to himself. It's almost like a healthy do-over of Rust's own childhood and he finds himself thinking of Travis often with a warmth that resonates behind his breastbone.

But then in a few weeks certain financial realities become apparent.

Last time Rust was in the Last Frontier he mostly lived on bar peanuts and booze, so JoJo's is a sobering lesson in how much it costs to truck real food so far north. A carton of orange juice sets him back seven dollars, a puny head of fresh lettuce five. Hunting isn't an option - people care about poaching nowadays and nonresident tag fees are so high this can't be the leisurely writer's retreat he'd hoped for.

Work is a necessary misery and he finds it driving a forklift in a football field-sized freezer at the seafood plant, graveyard shift four nights a week because they won't hire him for any less. Jesse's dropped off in pajamas at Miss Nancy's daycare at nine and Rust picks him up at eight. Most mornings guilt drives them to the Caboose on Main, an old train car converted into a slapped-together diner that's no McDonalds Playplace but Jesse enjoys the novelty just the same.

They park the old green truck across the street and both their boots slip on the way over in the grainy mess. "Daddy, why's this snow different than up at our house?"

"Because there's de-icer on the roads in town. Feels like walking in brown sugar, don't it? Maybe we should taste it."

"No!" Jesse giggles and double-punches Rust's thigh with such spirit he almost falls down.

The restaurant's old brass bell clinks overheard and they settle inside at one of the bottle-green vinyl booths. It's got the same patina of gentle neglect as the cabin and their usual waitress swings over. "Coffee for dad?"

"Yes ma'am. Thanks."

"How about you, peanut?"

It's hard not to smile when Jesse's mulls over the laminated menu as if he can read. "Tiny Track, please."

It had to be either that or the Lil Frenchy, and when it comes he methodically works on the silver dollar pancakes and bacon while Rust writes paper napkin notes about what he thought about all night in the freezer, to be filled in later at home. His current hurdle is a section on antecedent phase; his left eyelid flickers because he's overtired and he lets his eyes rest on Jesse, who's licking a fingertip to get every bit of syrup off his plate.

"How's things at Miss Nancy's? You still like it?"

"I like it, but mama said daycare's bad for kids."

Rust nods and doubts she'd approve of what he's doing. "Well, it's different because you're there at night and you're asleep most of the time."

"Nobody's touched my butt," he says proudly. "Not even once!"

"Did you expect 'em to?"

Jesse's voice shrinks like he's telling a secret. "I don't know, but mama said if anybody touches mine I have to tell you."

A very specific darkness has shaded Audrey since she was small, and he's never asked but always hoped he was wrong. "That's right, you should tell us." He wonders how she is right now and reaches across the table to brush off a pancake flake stuck to Jesse's cheek. "How about we get home before you lick the porcelain glaze off that plate. Come on."

They pay and wrap his scarf around Jesse's face so only his eyes show, and make their usual pause at the entryway corkboard so he can look at the notices for free kittens and Malamute puppies that aren't free. There's a new flyer tacked up for a cheap old fishing boat and Rust checks the specs up close: 42 feet, needs work but sound.

If their green truck had a boat cousin, this would be it. "How about that. You could come to work with me if that was ours. 'Cept I don't think mama would let us get a fishing boat."

Neither would Marty, but it's a nice little daydream to float him home. _Cohle & Son Coho Co._

Outside it's still dark, but the iron weight of heavy clouds presses off to the west. A storm's expected to roll in over the next few days and it's odd that he actually welcomes it. Travis must be more a part of him than he thought and he aches to tell him that, admit that Alaska isn't that bad and tell him that he remembered to put rocks in the wood stove's corners, and every night he props up a star of logs that burns in a gradual slide unsupervised. That old man was a pain in the ass but goddamn he had the common sense of another time. It's a shame it's taken so long to appreciate that.

They pull up in front of the cabin and the silver-blue prelude of dawn allows them to see something new and different waiting for them on the front stoop.

Jesse pulls down his scarf. "Is that big box for us?"

"Yep. That's some some stuff that wouldn't fit in my suitcase." It's mostly reference books Marty shipped up behind them to help with his writing, and up close, the top's mangled and loose pages litter the porch. "What the hell? Somethin' musta got into it." He unlocks their front door, flips on the outside light and sees the eerie sparkle of unnatural colors in the snow. Purple. Bright yellow and green.

_It's sugar._

"Shit, kiddo. I think Grandpa Marty sent us a king cake."

"A king cake!"

The goddamn tracks off to the side confirm it. "I think a bear got into that box and stole our king cake."

"Oh!"

"He'll be awful damn sorry when he craps out a plastic baby."

"Yeah!" Jesse agrees, and gathers up paper debris from the snow while Rust finds part of a glossy white Poupart's box. "Are you sad about your books?"

"A little, but we can tape 'em up, I guess. Once we get some tape."

He drags in what's left of the box and builds up the fire while Jesse tries to smooth the crumpled pages on the floor. Then Rust sinks down on the old couch and puts his feet up. "When it gets light we'll go outside and see if there's any more paper lyin' around, okay?"

"If we get the flashlight we can go right now."

"Not now, bud. Dad's gotta take five."

Trying to cobble together enough sleep on this hellish schedule's reminiscent of the bad old days, though he can't get away with it like he used to. He fights it and loses, descending into soft snores while Jesse works beside him on the floor.

Since he's not sleeping nearly enough, dreams have become deep and immediate when he ducks under. He's submerged in the clingy weight of humidity and the spring perfume of home, Jesse coloring the back fence with chalk and Audrey somewhere in the house unseen. Part of him is aware that it's the Alaskan stove stoked too high but he sweats like Louisiana summertime and half-consciously shrugs off his outer shirt. The dream falls away when he settles back down on the couch but it's okay - this kind of sleep's becoming a lusher pleasure than coke was back in the day. Apples to oranges, but still.

The extra thought brushes him back closer to awake. It's too quiet and he makes himself move and wake up. The light's wrong, there's too much of it; through blurred view the torn books are on the floor but Jesse isn't. "Jess? Where you at?"

Alaskan silence is quieter than any other kind and he sits up.

"Jess Martin?"

The clock says 11:15 and he isn't in the bathroom or bedroom.

The only thing in the woodshed is wood.

Off to the side Rust spots little boot tracks in the snow. He gets them in between himself and sunlight to see the shadow of the prints better, then follows his absent son into the trees.

Airborne diamond-dust snow prickles his arms and kid tracks mix with animal tracks. The bear thief's big round prints are underneath Jesse's, but then a third set joins from the side and Rust feels sour sweat press at the back of his neck and his stomach seizes up, cold and white as a dead fish. The wide marks of a cougar almost dust the others out and Rust walks faster because they'll stalk children and snatch them from behind without so much as a sound.

Others join from the sides of the path and Jesse's prints are soon buried under a collage of big cat pads. They don't work in concert so he must be hallucinating them, but what if the first set is real? It looked as real as the bear and the boots. Realer because it was on top.

He starts to run.

"Jesse!" he shouts, but it bounces back thin and high. Again, and the sound frightens him. Even in an undershirt he's paradoxically hot and it's like he's the only color there, all else leached out of the color palate but white and gray, miles and miles of dead tree snags and snow. He hasn't yet learned the area completely, but if the tree canopy thins out in any way, the snow will get too deep and he will no longer be a father.

"Jesse!"

He's not looking at the path anymore, just running fast toward a feeling and almost tripping and suddenly then there it is, a speck of blue ripstop nylon that gets closer as he does. "Jess!" he shouts, and without looking back, Jesse runs.

He darts between trees with the unfair dexterity of youth and Rust wheezes after him. "Jess, stop!" Jesse sprints ahead but gravity pulls Rust on a downhill and he's able to tackle him down in the snow. An odd snap comes from beneath them and he's still, panting and afraid to move.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No! Get off me!"

Rust eases up. "Why didn't you stop when I called?"

Jesse scrambles away and backs up against a tree with with wide, fearful eyes. "Because it wasn't your voice!" Two halves of a broken teacup lie in the dent in the snow that had been underneath him. "Am I in trouble?"

Rust isn't sure. "What the hell are you doing out here?"

"I'm looking for lost pages and I brought that for bear poop."

Rust isn't sure he heard that right. "Excuse me, _what?"_

"If I found the poop with the cake baby in it I was gonna dig it out with a stick and bring it back to show you." He presses snow down with his toe. "Am I gonna get whipped?"

Snow softens under his knees and ice-knives of cold slice into his bare arms. "No, Jess. Never."

"Why you are crying?"

"Because I was so worried about you."

"But I'm okay."

"Hush. Come here." Bad luck, the nail in the road. It's not for him this time. Maybe never again, but not now...he bites back the sound tearing to escape his throat and the warm fit of his boy in his arms is a gift all over again, like the first day and every day since. "I can't lose you, you understand? You're all I have and I can't lose you."

"But I wasn't lost."

"Shh." Pine scents his hair and his colors are like the Sistine cleaned - cameo mouth, maize hair, ocean eyes. "You're my good boy, Jess. I don't know what I'd do if you were gone."

"Daddy, I wasn't lost."

"Shh."

He's light as shortcake when Rust hoists him up and carries him home and he forgets to look down and study what the tracks really were.

A pan of water's put on to boil for powdered cocoa mix and they each have a gentle face wash in warm water. Instead of reaching down to scrub a washcloth in the vicinity of Jesse's face, Rust does it how Audrey'd do it. Sets him up on the sink so they're more level and keeps a supportive hand around his back. Gentle and slow, he takes his time and and Jesse relaxes and closes his eyes. "Feels nice, don't it?"

"Mm hmm."

"You want lotion dots like your ma does?"

"Okay."

He gets them on cheeks, forehead, nose and chin and Rust rubs them in with a careful fingertip. "Alright, we're gonna warm up and then talk about some rules for when dad falls asleep."

It starts calmly but Travis creeps into his voice when he drills Jesse until he turns fidgety and upset. "I know you're getting sick of this but say 'em one more time."

He's started taking phantom sips from his empty mug. "I don't wanna."

"Come on, now, this is serious. Seven rules. Count 'em out on your fingers."

"No going outside. We have to be in the same room. Don't poke the fire. Wake dad up if I'm not sure about anything. I can't remember any more."

"The last three are all kitchen things."

"Um, don't climb up on the counters, don't make toast by myself. No knives."

"Right. What's the best thing to do when dad's asleep?"

"Just play quiet and wait."

"Good. Hey, I got an idea. Let's pretend that the big bed's a pretend raft at sea. You want to?"

He almost does, so Rust puts on more of a show. "Your feet are soaked! Come on, let's go." The little bedroom and thick blankets could very well be a Smithsonian diorama of honest coziness, and he tips back onto the bed and groans as his vertebrae click into place. "Okay, now climb on up. Mmm, can you feel the waves rollin' under us?"

"I think so."

"They're makin' me tired. Cocoa is too, it feels like I'm in a big ol' rocking chair."

"And you're a great big baby." Jesse pats his cheeks. "Your face's gettin' scratchy!"

"Your hair's gettin' long," he says, and gives it a little tug.

"Long enough to pull back like yours?"

He gathers it behind his head. "Well...not yet but it's gettin' there." His face warms from how much he loves him and he gathers him up and kisses the crown of his head.

Jesse runs a little thumbnail over the old scar on his forearm and then pinches the tattooed bird's beak like it's talking. "Why'd you get this?"

"I'll tell you when you're older, but speakin' a birds, do you see that seagull over there? That means we're close to land."

"Are there whales?"

"Might be. How about if I fall asleep you get your colored pencils and draw ocean stuff."

"Okay. Are there crawfish?"

"Nope. Those live in the mud down in the bayou."

"How 'bout them great big ones?"

"Lobsters live in a different ocean that's nowhere near here. I'll show you on a map later."

"Are there dolphins?"

"Might be."

"What else?"

Rust makes enough nautical observations to satisfy Jesse, who stays next to him and draws while he dozes. There are elaborate illustrated stories when he wakes up, about their father-son fishing operation and the sharks they catch and tame into nicer characters at their Shark School.

*

The forecasted snowstorm comes down hard - almost a foot and Rust's grateful someone uphill has a plow and clears all the way down to the main road. He still has to shovel out the door and paths to the truck and the woodshed, but Jesse plays behind him in the newly-cut paths, kicking holes in the walls and trudging out new side trails. It takes so long there isn't much time to make dinner so Rust turns out a Travis Cohle specialty - dirty Minute rice with a can of spinach thrown in. What he wouldn't give to have that grouchy old asshole here now. He might know what to do with a four year old smartass.

"Eat your dinner, Jess Martin."

“But I don't want this. I want a plain spaghetti mustache so I can look like you."

"You had one last night. Dammit, you gotta eat right or you won't grow.”

“I'll stay little. I don't care.”

“Well, I do. Now eat."

"But I don't like dirty rice when you make it.”

“The list of what you don't like's getting as long as the Alcan Highway.” Rust digs in himself, hoping he'll follow. "I don't know how your ma wrangled you and all the house stuff with two arms, much less one."

Jesse spoons tiny bites into his mouth once he forgets that he's supposed to be miserable. “Say again what the name of where mama is.”

“Arizona.”

“Arizona. Say again what it's like.”

“It's a desert, with yellow dirt and big-armed cacti that look like people.”

He loves that. “What else? Say the color things.”

“The sky's the bluest during the day and the sunset's pink, but if you look over your shoulder there's a band of purple same color as that blanket you like at home."

Such a smile on that kid. "What else?"

"In the springtime the saguaros grow flowers on the top and look like ladies wearing hats. In the summer, it gets so hot you'd think you're in an oven.”

"Is mama going to have a baby?"

Creepy old panic ices the lines of his biggest scar; this hasn't come up before. “What makes you say that?”

“I found out how a baby gets made. And it isn't from a garden like you said."

"Oh. Where do they come from, then?"

"When a lady gets super hot she does this.” His finger pokes a circle made with his other hand. “And a baby grows.”

Rust relaxes and can't help but smile. “Huh. Who told you about that?”

“Ruby's brother.”

“Oh. Well, I don't think your ma's doing that.”

Jesse nods, but his eyes fill up. "Does she hate me?”

“Not at all. She loves you and misses you every day.”

The lower lip quivers and Rust looks around for anything to turn this around, but his insides jump when his phone pings with an Arizona area code. “Don't cry, now. We'll go out for a Roy Rogers if you're brave and let me take this call, okay? Hello?”

“Hello, I'm calling for a Mr. Rustin Cohle?”

“Yeah. Is Audrey okay?”

“The reason we're contacting you is that Ms. Hart would like to add a weekly hour of therapeutic massage to her recovery program. Since it exceeds the initial cost of treatment, your authorization's required to add it on.”

He can't imagine how much more money their outfit could possibly want, but he sighs and gives in. “Yeah, okay. Give her anything she wants.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cohle. I'm sure she'll be glad to hear it.”

“Can you tell me anything else? Like her progress, or how she's doing?”

“I'm sorry. I'm just administrative support. I don't actually interact with the clients.”

He hopes silence will force the voice to say more but it doesn't. “Well thanks, I guess.”

"Thank you, Mr. Cohle. Have a nice day."

Jesse's already at his elbow, hanging onto his tattoo with both hands. "Was that mama's school?"

"Sure was. They said she's doin' real good."

"But why can't we talk to her?"

"It's just the way it is. Hey, you wanna call grandpa?"

"No. Call back her school. Call them and say is Audrey there."

"Hang on, now, think about it. Mama has her school friends, and Grandma's got Grandpa David. Grandpa Marty doesn't have anybody. He's probably lonely without us."

"Dad-"

"I'm callin' him right now." Jesse folds his arms in a pout and Rust knows this is ridiculous but doesn't know what else to do. Marty answers and he hands the phone over. "Here. Talk to him but don't say what happened to the king cake."

"Hi, grandpa."

Marty's voice is loud enough for Rust to hear. "Who the heck is this?"

"It's me!" Jesse giggles. They discuss snow and Jesse looks to dad for coaching on the cake they never ate, and soon enough the phone's passed back to him.

"Gettin' any writing done?”

“Not enough. The kid eats up every minute.”

“But you wouldn't trade it for anything.”

“That's not exactly true,” Rust says. “Sometimes I gotta send him outside to throw snowballs at the house to burn off all his kid energy. Figure it's just a matter of time before starts breaking windows.”

“Have you heard from Audrey?”

“No, but it may be a good sign,” he says, though deep down he isn't sure. “You know, the thing about focusing on herself instead of other people."

“Right," Marty sighs, probably thinking the same. "Maggie's about lost her fucking mind over this, as you can imagine.” Uncomfortable silence looms but Rust can't think of a way to close it. "I drove by your house the other day. Made sure everything looked okay and it did."

"Thanks. I owe you one."

Later that night, he wakes from a vague nightmare about the bear ripping up the cabin and he sits up and forces himself to think of better things. The one that sticks most is Audrey having perfumed oil kneaded into her back until her skin glows. Maybe there's some grain of reality in it, and he wonders how often she finds herself thinking of them.

Shit's going to be different after all this, he swears. He gets huge second chances like cats have lives and he's going to make this work. Finish the book, fix up the house, give Audrey what she needs to work and be happy, and be the father Jesse deserves. And maybe it's a little vain but he wants to keep it seamless so no one ever knows how hard it is.

*

The first month is mostly adjustment, all bumps forgiven due to circumstances but Rust gets some decent work behind him and keeps a steady focus on the kid.

In the second month, a few problems crop up but nothing unusual for a father and son stuck together in cold isolation with six short hours of daylight a day. Rust writes when he can but starts to regret the warehouse schedule he's taken on. It feels like he's constantly fighting a cold and he doesn't remember ever having headaches like this. Nothing like pop's were but still not good.

By the third month, Jesse's spending more and more time in front of Miss Nancy's television because Rust's a walking zombie. His writing stalls, he can't sleep even when he tries, and Jesse starts throwing fits when he's picked up, screaming variations of our house is boring, you're boring, and I want to stay here. Sometimes he can be bribed with a Roy Rogers at the bar, but Rust doesn't need Maggie to tell him that the bar shouldn't be a reward for a four year old, but he's exhausted and wrung out and doesn't know what else to do.

On the book front, he's developing a strained but positive relationship with his editor. The tension with Roger reminds Rust of when he first started working with Marty only he's in Marty's place now, dilettante finessing to keep his head above water because he knows so much less. He's come to dread correspondence from Roger, and the latest is a peach.

 

**Subject: Re: draft**

Rust,

Did you mean to send me this shit?!? I can't imagine you did. Call me.

\- Rog

 

A quick check of the Sent folder shows that he'd accidentally attached a draft that wasn't the latest. It was only about a week old so it couldn't have been too terrible, but...goddamn.

He doesn't want to talk to him and sends a quick reply with the draft he'd meant to send in the first place, then heads over to Miss Nancy's to pick up Jesse. He's been there for over eighteen hours now: overnight, then extra so he can watch DVDs and spend social time with people more fun than his dangerously burnt-out father.

Right away Rust can tell his boy's owly like the chronic grouch he'd probably been, too. "You ready to go?" he asks, but Jesse stares at him like he's a stranger. His hair and skin are the same sick shade of sallow and dark shadows hang under his eyes. He looks completely worn out.

Miss Nancy has similar concern for him. "Rust, you look terrible. Stay and I'll fix you a sandwich."

"Thank you very much, but we gotta get going," he says, business as usual, but there's an odd current in the air. "Is something wrong?"

Her dark eyes are open and sad and she speaks in a whisper. “He's had a rough day. The kids were teasing him and he's been talking about his mother. Rust, I'm so sorry.”

Grownup school shouldn't elicit this much sympathy. “What exactly did he tell you?”

“That you lost her in an accident. On his birthday of all days.”

“That ain't true. She's flying up to see us in a couple weeks.”

“Oh thank God,” she sighs. “Jesse, please let go of my leg. Honey, I'll see you tomorrow.”

"Come on. Let's go get a sack of day-olds from JoJo's and play slapjack."

"I don't want to. Daddy, no! Let go!"

"Miss Nancy needs a break. Now come on 'fore you get in trouble." He takes him by the arm and it looks like he's being rough because Jesse thrashes and hollers all the way to the truck.

Things calm down on the drive because Jesse's calculating how much trouble he'll be in once they get home. "You're too old to be throwin' fits like that," Rust says. "I know you're bored. I know you miss your ma but you gotta be tough."

"I'm too sad to be tough."

"Well I'm sad, too," he says bitterly. "Some days I wanna crawl all the way to Arizona on my elbows but it's three thousand miles away and I'd never make it. Sometimes when you're sad you just gotta pretend you aren't." He blows past the market without stopping and Jesse doesn't comment, just bows his head.

In the cabin he sits on his little bed and folds in on himself. He might talk if given some time, so Rust runs a sink of water for last night's dishes and collects their dirtiest laundry on the bathroom floor. The machines at the laundromat are so unreliable he's been doing it in the tub, stirring with a big wooden spoon and draping things on chairs to dry by the fire.

The mute sadness of his son is awful to recognize. "You wanna tell dad what they were teasing you about?"

"They said all my clothes came out of a Lost and Found box."

It takes Rust's breath away.

He's killed a man for killing a child yet wants to snuff out whoever said that. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. It's not even true." It's worse than the teasing he weathered growing up a weirdo among weirdos; it's so much worse he almost can't speak.

A thick belt of Jameson doesn't even help. "I'll have Miss Nancy put us back on our old overnight schedule so you don't have to be around those shitty kids anymore. But if you still want that Carhartt jacket at the hardware store you can have it."

Jesse's silent.

"You want to go get it right now? Laundry and dishes gotta soak, so we got time."

Jesse only shrugs.

“I'm gonna go split wood if you wanna help,” Rust says, but he won't look up. “Are you listening to me? You got wax in your ears?”

“I hate it here. It's cold and nobody likes me.”

“I'm here and I love you bigger'n Texas.”

He looks up with Marty's eyes. “I want my purple blanket and I want to go home.”

“We will." Rust swallows and tries to find his voice. "Soon, I promise.”

"Mom forgot about us."

"She never would, now don't talk that way. Come on outside and help me."

"I'm too sad."

Tears brim in his eyes and Rust tries to hold him but he wriggles and wedges himself tight against the wall. Rust pats his little back and fights tears of his own. "Well, come out if you change your mind."

It's been a long time since he's wallowed in his lot of being born under a bad star but the old self-pity wraps him like bindweed.

Outside he appeals to his father, wherever he is.

 

_Pop, this is so hard and I don't know what to do. You gotta help me if you can. Please._

 

_Please._

 

*

Audrey doesn't call on the ninety-first day.

It may be because she needs a travel day home from Arizona, but she doesn't call the next day, either, and their Louisiana landline rings unanswered no matter what time Rust tries.

He zones out looking into the fire, thinking how he should've known he could never keep her, and the closer he looks the worse it gets. She lost the artist's life she loved once she was saddled with a baby. Saddled with him, too, and he's a thousand times more work than a baby. It's like a hurricane's stretching him from the inside and he doesn't know how long he can hold it.

_She's not coming._

He doesn't know how the fuck he spent the last three months thinking anything different.

“Daddy.”

A thick knot pops deep in a log and Jesse leans on him, patting a deck of cards.

“Dad. Play slapjack with me.”

His eyes are brimming so full he can't move. “Maybe in a little while.”

“Why not now?”

_Because I want to get drunk._

“Because I'm old and I need to think about old people stuff.”

“Like what?”

_Your mother._

“Nothing.”

He fusses and throws one of the cards; it spins to the floor like a maple key. “Daddy...”

“Jess, please just play by yourself.”

“No!” he shouts. “I want to play with you!”

He takes a deep breath and wipes his eyes. “I don't play cards with hollerin' little brats. Now go sit on your bed till you calm down.”

“No!” The cards fly up in the air and scatter like birds. “I hate you!”

“You wanna get whipped, young man?”

"I don't care! I hate you!" He charges, kicking at shins and screaming his head off. Little fists smash against Rust's legs and he spins away like a metal jack when he tries to snag him by the arm. He's like a little rage tornado and Rust's heart breaks for it. He's too small to be this angry.

“Jesse Martin Cohle, that's enough.”

He fails to land a vicious kick to the ankle and loses his balance; he's not hurt but he writhes on the scratched wood floor and wails like he is. Rust shakes his head. Pop would've whacked him for a display like this even at age four, and he bends to pick up his screaming boy while Jess fights it as hard as he can. He's sweaty and red and hot to even hold. “You're mean to me,” he cries. “I'm gonna tell everybody! That you're mean to me!”

"Go right ahead." Rust deposits him in his bed and Jess scrambles to get out. “Nuh uh, you stay right where you are. You're gonna calm down right goddamn now.”

“Daddy.” The tears are deep and real and he's not just making noise. “I wanna go back to our real house,” he cries. “I want mom. I wanna go home!”

“Shh, I know. I miss her too but we gotta be patient.”

He snuffles and cries, can't catch his breath. “But I _am_ patient! And I asked. I asked..."

"Breathe. Breathe and tell me. You don't need to cry so hard, now tell dad what you asked about."

"I asked one of the big kids at Miss Nancy's and she said you get to go _home_ after school. Every day they get to go home an' she's prolly at our real house right now and I don't like it here. I'll be good. I won't ever get in trouble again if we can please go home. _Please.”_

Rust sits down on the floor beside his little bed and has no words for a long, hard minute. "I'll make some calls and find out what's taking so long." He brushes the tears off Jess's hot apple cheeks and helps him blow the snot out of his nose with all the care he can.

"I hate you."

The reckless words of a four year old still hurt. "That's fine. You can hate me all you want."

"I want mama but not you."

"Alright. You take a little break and we'll see what happens."

Rust covers him up and drinks. So much that at first he worries he overdid it, but then it soaks in and becomes the familiar old numbness. He's out of practice, only halfway into the third bottle after all this time.

 

_I didn't hit him._

 

_I'm no good at this, but at least I didn't hit him._

 

He thinks about the looming threat of violence that underlaid his entire childhood and wonders where in the fuck he gets off threatening a four year old with tanned hide and whippings now. A four year old he _loves,_ the second chance he doesn't deserve and never thought he'd have. Travis had no outlet at all. No mother halfway in the picture, no grandma like Maggie, who's a royal pain in the ass but means well in her warped way.

Maybe she's right. Maybe he has no business trying to do this himself. The tears are humiliating and unstoppable, because he's a failure as a father and Audrey hasn't loved him in a long time and maybe never has. No wonder she picked up a drug habit - how else could she stand him? Their crooked union was lopsided from the start and if she's turned rehab into a spa vacation, well...he probably owes her that.

He eats a piece of bread, tries to sober up a little and calls. “Maggie. Hey, I know it's late with the time difference an' all, but-”

“I imagine you'll want to talk to Audrey.”

So she's there.

“Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

“Hi.” There's no hint at all of how she is or what's going on. “How are you? How's Jess?”

“Kinda thought we woulda heard from you by now.”

“Yeah, well. I was gonna call you in the morning.” The grain of her voice is stretched tight. “I've been trying to work up to it.”

“Why would you need to work up to it?”

“I'm just really sorry about everything. I can't stop thinking about the money...”

“Who gives a shit about the money, Aud, how are you?”

“Lots better. I think it worked. And...” she trails off into silence.

“And what?”

“You're gonna hate this, but they said you need counseling. I know you won't want to,” she rushes to say. “But the destruction of addiction's a shared burden. Loved ones suffer just as much as the addict.”

_Buzzwords._

He floated a good chunk of his retirement away for fucking buzzwords, and he won't acknowledge that she said it, not even to say there's no way in hell. “You gonna come up here and see us?”

“Yeah. Mom wants me to stay here a while. The program thought that was good, too. To have a transitional place. I haven't been to our house. It'd be too weird to be there alone, so I guess I'm not ready yet.” She pauses. "What's it like up there? Is it good for your writing?"

“Aud...” his nose stings. “You need to be with Jess. It ain't right for a boy this age not to have his mother.” _Because it's fucking him up and it gets worse every day. Do you want him to end up like me? I think we can agree that nobody fuckin' wants that._ Rust's stomach twists and he realizes he's far too drunk to have this conversation. “Hey, I know it's late out there. Why don't you call us tomorrow and we'll figure something out.”

“Okay,” she says quietly. “Can you put him on the phone?”

“He's sleeping off a tantrum. So, no.”

“I'm so sorry. For all of this."

"Call us tomorrow." He hangs up and fills up his glass, then pours it out in the sink and takes a cigarette outside.

The stars are unbelievable, bright white pricks on dark blue velvet and he thinks about how pop was reduced to this once, too, and he loves him so much he can't stand it.

 

_Pop, I've got a girl and she's not like mom but she might be more than I can handle. She's young and I'm not and I don't think she wants this anymore._

_I'm so worried about our boy. Can you see him from where you are?_

_Did you ever feel half this bad?_

_I miss you._

_I miss you so much and I wish you were here._

 

*

Jesse's timid around him in the morning, not making eye contact and playing with matchbox cars in the shadow of the couch, then moving to the bedroom when Rust's in the kitchen so he can't be seen. "I talked to your ma last night."

He peeks around the corner, brightening like a light bulb. "You did?"

"Uh huh. You were sacked out but she's gonna call back today so she can talk to you."

"What did she say?"

"She's happy and she misses you. She's at grandma's house right now, but when she calls I'm gonna ask if she wants to come up here and see the snow."

"If she says no can we go home?"

The cold's less of an enemy now that spring's closer, but it'll be good to be warm again. "We sure can."

For some reason Rust gets it in his head that she'll call at ten, and around noon he gets nervous. Around one, the darkness that made him think she was fucking around worms back into his chest and he starts getting upset. He won't break down and call Maggie's house. In fact, maybe they'll be out of cell range when she calls.

They get a white paper sack of day-old doughnuts from the market and Rust leaves the truck running and ducks into the Caboose to get the number off a bulletin board flyer. He's kept a casual eye on an old fishing boat for two weeks now, and never thought it was a possibility until now.

"Yallo!" The guy answers on the second ring and Rust makes arrangements to meet him in Nikiski. Despite only one season's experience, he's snobbishly confident he'd make a good troller because it's a quality-over-quantity art form relying on sixth sense and luck. Jesse could bait hooks until he got big enough to wrestle the best Kings the Pacific can cough up and they'd nestle their catches in ice, pretty as a holiday fruit box.

He allows Jesse a second powdered doughnut and he's appreciative and cute, eyes extra bright.

"You wanna go for a boat ride today?"

"Yeah!"

It's a sideways approach to the problem, but with a fishing boat they wouldn't need Miss Nancy because Jess would be with him 24/7; he'd take over the operation when he was old enough while Rust would rattle around the boat until he couldn't rattle anymore. As for Audrey, she's making it pretty clear she doesn't want to be in the picture so maybe Jesse could spend winters with her in Louisiana and bypass the cold. But then...callous things Rust once said to Travis flood his stomach with bile.

It's all coming full circle.

_He's going to lose them both._

A leaden cannonball in his gut tells him to turn around, drop Jesse at Miss Nancy's, and hit the bar hard. It wants him to level Audrey with two or three well-phrased sentences so she feels as rotten and unloved as he does. He'll sell the house at a loss just so she won't have anywhere to go.

"Hey, dad?"

"Mmm?"

"When we go for the ride, do you think I could steer the boat for ten seconds or maybe for one whole minute?"

The cannonball dissolves as he imagines Jesse as a handsome, orange-bibbed young man with strong straight teeth and blond waves tossed by the wind. "We'll see," he says, and they continue up the coast toward the marina. "You ever think about being a fisherman?"

"Maybe. But I might work in a bank."

It's the first Rust's heard of this career goal. "Why would you wanna work in a bank?"

"So I can be close to all the money. And Dum Dums."

"Well maybe you can think about fishing. Shark School and whatnot."

The boat owner's a surly sort, built like a bread truck and calls Jesse "tough guy." The boat needs work but Rust's spent months on worse and they chug out into the bay. It's nice to have the low, steady rumble under his feet again and he hopes Jesse understands that this is meant for them, maybe woven into their DNA to be out here on their own little island between two big blocks of water and sky.

"So like I said, it's GM 4-71 main rated at 146 hp and it might be a little ugly on the outside but the guts are good. Have you ever seen an engine compartment this clean? I bet you haven't."

"Can't say that I have."

During the Furuno electronics monologue Rust's mind drifts to the very likely possibility of pushback from Audrey. Maybe he could paint her as an addict and get full custody. Hell, for all he knows she still is.

"Daddy, I don't feel good."

"Just hang on. You'll get your sea legs."

"What's sea legs?"

"It means you can keep your balance and don't feel sick," the owner says. "You'll get it once you been fishin' with your papa a while."

"I'm scared of fish," Jesse says, and flips his little hands up and down. "I don't like it when they flop around."

It's rather embarrassing news to Rust, but he brushes it off asks about the autopilot. Jesse stays a few steps behind them on the tour and starts to whine. "Daddy..."

"Hold on." He hoists him up in his arms. "Just hang onto me and try an' relax."

The problem seems solved until Jesse sobs once and throws up down the back of Rust's coat.

"I'm sorry," he cries. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Jess. Here. Okay."

He reaches out for the rail and Rust holds him out and pats his back as he spits more white paste over the side.

The seller knows he's not going to make a sale and his whole face changes. "Guess I'll get the hose."

They drive home with Rust's coat weighed down with a rock in the back and Jesse's head on his thigh, hiccuping and whining a little. Once in the house Rust gives him a dish of canned applesauce and sits next to him, checking his phone.

There are two missed calls from Maggie's house but Rust doesn't return them.

Audrey needs to work a little harder if she wants this.

*

She calls back so late it's almost nighttime for her.

Rust doesn't even say hello, just picks up the phone and waits.

“Rust? I'm sorry.”

"You should be," he spits. "I was out workin' on a Plan B when you called earlier. Sorry."

"Oh." She sounds maudlin, a sort of matte slate gray that surrounded her when she was using. “I got busy but I've been thinking about you two. A lot.”

 _Busy doing what?_ He doesn't ask because silence will force her to talk.

“I need you to wire me some money.”

_For drugs._

His skin crawls at the thought. “What for.”

“For a plane ticket. I don't want to ask mom.”

He sighs. Something about this rubs him wrong way. “Audrey...if you don't come, this is it. I'm done.”

“I know. Would you put Jesse on so I can say hi?”

“No, I will not.”

“Rust...”

Jesse runs over to his feet with wide eyes but Rust gives him a gentle pat and turns his back to him. “Show up and you can talk to him all fuckin' day if you want.”

“I'm trying to, you asshole."

"Daddy-"

"Look, I know you're upset and you should be,” she says, getting quieter with every word. “But don't make this any worse. Please.”

There's a weird flash of pale powder blue and shame softens his voice. “I can't wire it to you till morning.”

“That's fine."

The icejam in his throat comes when he recognizes it's her voice from when they used to curl up and nap whenever their baby did. It's hard to believe that was ever them.

Jesse yanks on his hand. “Daddy-"

"Fly here direct, don't go to Anchorage. It'll cost more but it'll save time." His heart swells a little that this is really happening. "I guess let me know where to wire it and how much.”

"Thank you."

"Dad!"

"I can hear him, Rust. Please." Her voice cracks like glass, like ice. "You have to let me talk to him."

"Daddy, is it her?"

Hot tears crowd his eyes when he hands over the phone and Jesse lights up.

"Mama, guess what? I'm in a different place! Do you want to come see it? Uh huh." He hasn't looked this happy in months. "Uh huh. I miss you, too."

*

Sleep is an elusive tease in the days before her arrival, and a dark place behind Rust's heart doesn't want Jesse's hopes too high. The only hint he gives is the promise of a dollar if he helps pick up the house.

“I guess it looks decent enough." He peels a one out of his wallet. “Get your boots on and we'll go for a drive.”

"To where?" Jesse asks, trying to step into his boots and look at his new money at the same time.

"You'll see."

They drive along and an odd question surfaces in the truck. “Was mama mad that I kicked her that last time when I was squished in her belly?”

“Nope. She was happy you were on your way out 'cause she waited a long time to see you.”

His intuition is scary. “Is she here?”

“I don't know," Rust says. "Guess we'll find out.”

The airport's little more than a poorly sealed glass box with a few benches, and the plane's so small the passengers have to walk down a set of six stairs and through a shoveled path to the terminal. Ten people file inside, shivering and blinking at the bright overhead lights, and one of them is Audrey.

She looks healthy and pretty and Rust's happy to see her but so angry about the days of foot-dragging that he doesn't say much, just stands back while Jesse sinks to the floor and gets covered in kisses and tears. “Mama,” he cries, and clings to her.

“Baby Jess.”

“Mama.”

“I know, honey, I know. I missed you so much. It's too hard to be away from you. Way too hard.”

"Did you forget me?"

"Not for one second. I thought about you all the time." She cups his little face in her hands and they smile at each other, wet cheeks kissed again and again.

When they can all breathe again, she stands and closes her arms around Rust but it's like a hug from Macie, or someone who shares traits or history but isn't quite her. “How was grownups school?” he asks, and drops a meaningless kiss on her cheek.

“This may sound weird but I wish you could've gone with me and seen it. It was nice.” She pulls hands up into her sleeves, a movement that's always made her look young. “I'm gonna stay clean. I know I can.”

“Good.”

“Yeah. After a while I just decided I can't do it anymore, kind of like you said." Jesse's almost standing on her feet he's so close and she smooths his hair while she talks. "They did a meds adjustment that's helped and a masseuse broke up a lot of the scar tissue in my arm so it doesn't hurt as much.” She holds out her hand and gives him a firm, businesslike handshake. “See? Back to normal.”

So she wasn't having indulgent lavender-spiked spa days for fun.

Jesse makes her smile just by looking up and Rust glances up at the clock. “I guess let's go home and get you settled in. I gotta work in a few hours.”

“You got a job?"

"Had to."

He expects sympathy but gets annoyance instead. "And you didn't take time off?”

“I wasn't a hundred percent sure you'd show up.” Jess sharpens at the tension and hides behind Audrey's leg. “There's a place Jess stays overnight, so you won't have to worry about him.”

“Rust, Jesus. I'm his mother,” she says. Her offense seems to please him and they head for the door out to the parking lot. “Is this how it's gonna be now?”

Jesse runs up ahead, determined to make it to the truck first. “Probably not, but before you mention fuckin' counseling again, me getting over all that's happened may not happen overnight.” He likes that it hurts her. “Events of the past six months aside, I thought you'd call us the minute you got out. Maybe it's on me for expecting that, I don't know. I'm just kinda worn out.”

It might be residual tears in her eyes or maybe she's starting up again, but he stops looking at her so he won't know.

Jesse's extra animated on the drive home and points out all his favorite landmarks. “That's where we get stamps. That's where we get doughnuts and once we saw a bunny cross the road and a truck drove over it but it ran off into the field. So it didn't get hurt at all.”

“That's a lucky bunny.”

“I always look for it in that field, still. But I never see it.”

“He probably lives underground,” Audrey says, petting his hair, always touching and kissing him. “Is there anything fun to do around here? What keeps you two busy all day?"

“We hike and go to the store. Daddy's on the computer all the time an' sometimes we look at books. And I work on my letters and numbers. And draw. Did you know that daddy had a beard yesterday?"

"Really?"

Rust doesn't explain and drives up their road toward home.

"Uh huh. He thought you wouldn't like it so he shaved and cut his chin all up. Mom, this is our house! We live here!"

Rust parks and gets her stuff out of the back. “Jesse Martin, why don't you show your ma the deer path out back and your prospector cabin playhouse and then give her the house tour.”

“You have deer?”

“Uh huh. Three, a mom and two babies. They come by every morning and every night and don't tell grampa but a bear ate our king cake."

"What?" Audrey gasps and Rust cringes. "That didn't really happen!"

"It did too!"

"Did you see it?"

"Just footprints. I want to tell you it."

Jesse launches into the story while Audrey shoots Rust terrible looks like it all better be a lie. He wishes it was, too, and mutters something about it being embellished as he carries her things inside.

She calls after him. "There's a king cake in my suitcase. We should eat it before something happens to it."

He unzips her suitcase on the bed and finds a small Pouparts box nestled in a ring of sweaters. He's a little taken aback by the twelve pack of Trojans, and he shakes out a few pieces of her clothes and squeezes the seams looking for pills, ashamed that he doesn't trust her but he _doesn't._

He's hurriedly putting it all back into place when her voice startles him from behind.

“You want to do a cavity search, too?'

“Not particularly.”

He knows he's being terrible, but he's feeling more than he can stand and he can't be nice. He just can't.

He starts working on dinner and Audrey pulls a chair over to the warmth of the wood stove and draws Jesse into her lap. They talk about fire. “You must stay warm with your bed so close.”

“Uh huh. Sometimes I wake up with no blankets 'cause I get too hot and kick 'em off.”

“Daddy says sometimes you spend the night somewhere else?”

“Uh huh, at Miss Nancy's.”

“Who's Miss Nancy? Is she young or old?”

“Old. She watches other kids but I'm the only one that spends the night 'cause dad works in a graveyard.”

“Graveyard _shift,”_ Rust clarifies. “That reminds me, I gotta call her.”

“Where do you work?”

“In a warehouse.”

“It's a huge freezer!" Jesse lifts his arms wide like wings. “Like this! It makes his skin cracky an' dry. His feet-”

“Hey,” Rust interrupts. “Your ma don't wanna hear about my old man problems. Now be quiet a second so I can call." Jesse and Audrey's talk stops so they hear every word. “Hey, Miss Nancy, Jess won't be by tonight. No, he's fine. His mama's here. Yeah. Yeah, okay. I don't know about that, but thank you. Huh? I don't think so but I'll let you know. Thanks. Bye.”

Audrey guesses what he's declined and looks away from him so he won't see her face.

For as big of an ass as he's being he's planned a nice dinner. He rebuffs all offers of help and it's a serious juggling act to have it all come together on time: chicken, butter sauce, cappellini and vegetables. It's good, and Jesse provides a steady stream of talk to react to, which makes it easier being at the table with Audrey. She's like a beautiful stranger that he doesn't know where to start with.

For dessert, no one's slice of cake contains the plastic baby. Rust had secretly hoped for a sharp poke in the cheek because he'll take any luck he can get right now, but Jesse wants it too and addresses the parent most likely to say yes.

"My piece was kinda small so maybe I can have another one."

"Too bad," Audrey says. "You can try again at breakfast."

"Aw, mom!"

"Think about it. If you get it tomorrow you'll be king all day, but if you get it now you'll only be king for a few hours. And you might not get it at all. Maybe I'll get it. Maybe dad."

"Maybe me. Maybe me right now mom, please? Please!"

He howls when she takes a knife and shaves off a sliver so small there's no way it's in there, and Rust reaches around their sweet drama to stack up all the dishes. Audrey looks over her shoulder. "If you start a sink I'll work on those."

"Nah. I'll do 'em tomorrow."

She looks mildly offended. "I'm not helpless."

"I know you aren't but I'll do 'em tomorrow." He's not sure why that seems so important. Maybe it's because she feels so much like a guest, and he feels her eyes on him as he gets ready for work, puts on an extra shirt and collects his layers of gloves.

“Jess isn't allowed to mess with the fire but he can tell you the right way to build it up before you go to bed. Bedroom's cold at first but all the blankets are wool so you'll warm up after a little. I get off at eight in the morning."

“You should call in sick. You look like you haven't slept since you got up here.”

He doesn't know what to do with the tenderness in her eyes.

_I am. So tired._

He wants to tell her how hard it's been, and that he has new respect for everything she did at home. “Funny silver lining about this whole experience,” he says. “I've been too busy to drink.”

“That's hard to believe,” she says, and almost smiles. “Come here.”

She presses close and her breath warms his ear. “I want us to fix this. You, me, Jess, all of it. I want us to try.” She looks up at him, those dark eyes hiding things blue ones can't.

“Please.” Fingertips sneak up his shirt to his bare back and he wriggles away because it's too much to be this close to her. “Rust, come on. We have to try.”

“I know, I just...I'm not used to you anymore. I'm sorry."

She resumes her seat in front of the fire and tries to carry on a conversation with Jesse but quickly bows out of it. "Mama? Why you are sad?"

"Because I came a long way. That's all."

Rust brings her a tissue but is unable to speak to her directly. “You an' your ma have a good night," he tells Jesse. “Don't y'all stay up all night telling ghost stories.”

"Okay."

He makes himself kiss Audrey's cheek. She's got a loose braid down one side and her face is so fresh and pretty he doesn't know why the hell she'd ever want him.

Or forgive him for how he's been.

He's so lost in a fog of shame it takes a minute to realize she's followed him outside. "The hell you doing out here?"

"Walking you out."

"You're acclimated to Arizona and it's thirty goddamn degrees."

"Yeah, well too bad."

It's a tense dance in the packed snow. Her arms are crossed tight against the cold and it seems rude to get the truck warming up so he leans his back against its door and waits for her to say whatever she's got to say.

"I thought counseling was a crock of shit at first too, but...it helped. Like I talked out a lot of stuff. Stuff you don't know about."

So it's true; it awful to hear, but he's probably always known. He feels slightly sick and realizes his own arms are crossed tight. "You want to talk about it?"

"Not really." She toes the snow. "But I want you to be open to it. Counseling, I mean."

He nods reluctantly.

"I want us to go together. Things weren't perfect before but it was way better than I ever thought I'd have, and you were happy, too. Happier than my dad's ever seen, and maybe you're smarter than every therapist on earth but I'm not, okay? If we try and it doesn't work then fine, but..." Tears threaten to spill when she looks up. "I don't want to give up on us."

It's so hard to say. Even harder to believe in it but he wants to.

"Okay. I'll go."

*

His shift feels interminably long and he should've called in sick after all. The adrenaline spike of her coming and knowing how close she is makes him tired as a faded, shredded old flag.

When he gets home at eight the stove has the low orange glow it would if he'd been home all night; Jesse must've done a fine job telling Audrey what to do. Her energy colors the house, too - a pale pink fading into blush and she's asleep in the big bed with Jesse, whose curls are bound up into a little blond topknot. The peace in the room's quieter than snow.

Rust takes Jesse's pillow and blankets to the couch and sleeps up until he hears Jesse tapping on one of his oatmeal box bongo drums beside him.

Audrey's working in the kitchen with unnatural caution that's somehow worse than the normal noise. “Quiet, honey. Let daddy sleep.”

“He says I can wake him up anytime I want.”

“Well, don't for now. He's tired.”

He _is_ tired. So fucking tired it takes everything he has to get up, kiss the top of Jesse's head, and pivot into the bedroom. Suddenly Audrey's there, pulling down the vinyl blind with a soft ssshhh and taking stuff out of his pockets and folding him under the covers. She's wearing one of his flannel shirts, and he catches her wrist in his hand. “I don't mean to be such an asshole,” he says. “I'm glad you're here.”

She's such a pro at pretending nothing's wrong. “Thanks. So am I.” She arranges the covers while Jesse stands by the wall and scratches the top of his little drum box. “Jess, put that away. Shoo into the other room, now.”

“Dad says we hafta be in the same room anytime I'm awake and he's not.”

“It's okay.” Rust pats the bed next to him. “Get your pencils and come on up, if you want.” You should watch him draw,” he tells Audrey. “He's good at it.”

Jesse gets his paper and pencil box, and the bed sags for all three of them. Audrey reaches over to run her fingers through Rust's hair until it goes soft under her touch. His hand rests high up her thigh, and the waxy pencil lead pressing into paper makes comforting little sounds.

“We're on a raft at sea,” Jesse says. “Guess what? Real boats make me throw up."

"Oh no! Really?"

"Uh huh. Were there big cactuses at your big school?"

"A few."

"How big? Big as a person?"

"Bigger. They're super tall."

"Was the sky blue?"

"Very. Like daddy's eyes."

"Daddy's mean sometimes."

"Aw. Most of the time he's okay."

Their soft whispers are like a fine comb on his soul. Mother to son, a gentle conversation about colors and sky.

*

A small thud wakes him up mid-afternoon. “Uh oh,” Audrey says, and Jesse giggles on the other side of the wall. “That's a big mess.”

He listens a little harder and learns that they're talking about a dustpan.

“Do you know what one is?”

“Huh uh.”

“It's what the name says. A pan that you sweep dust into. Do you have that?”

“No.”

“Then where's your dust go?”

“Dad sweeps it out the door.”

Rust shifts and tries to wake up. He doesn't want to miss a minute of the two of them together, and the movement starts a series of crinkles.

The bed's covered with drawings. Cactus ladies with hats. Airplanes. Cactus men with a thousand spikes. A bunny apartment with human furniture and big-ass carrots that Audrey drew.

In the other room Jess is in his little bed with his feet up the wall. “Look! I'm the letter L!”

“You sure are, kiddo.”

The kitchen floor's blanketed in flour, spread out and made worse by Audrey's attempts to sweep it up. “We had a little accident,” she says, and he winds his arms around her waist from behind, nose to her shoulder.

“I'm sorry for how I've been,” he says, breathing in her scent. “An' I haven't said it but I'm proud of you.”

She sets the broom against the counter and laces her fingers with his. “Thanks.”

The longer they touch the more he thinks he could trust her again, live in the same space again.

“The shit I said about boys needing their mamas - that wasn't about Jess, it was about me and mine. It wasn't fair to put that on you and I'm sorry. You're a good mom. A good everything.”

“Thanks.”

“I love you, Audrey. So much.”

She covers her mouth and swallows down a sob. “I...I didn't think you did anymore.”

“Shh. 'Course I do, come on.” He turns her and holds her close as she cries into his shirt. It's like their first big fight, when he marveled that she could cry so much and put so much of her heart into it. “Hey, don't,” he says. “There's nothing sad about this and you're scaring our kid.”

Jesse's covered himself with his blanket, with only his little feet sticking out. “Jesse Martin, don't hide,” Audrey sniffs. “I'm okay. See? I'm not really even crying anymore.”

He cautiously peeks out from his cover.

“Get over here.”

He runs for her arms and she picks him up with a grunt that worries Rust. “Can your arm handle that?”

“Barely. God, Jess, have you been eating rocks?”

“No. Spaghetti.”

“Well you're heavy and I'm outta practice.” She perches his butt on the counter and he snuggles against her. “You grew up a lot lately,” she says, and rings her arms around him. “Such a smarty, with your letters and numbers. And so many nice drawings.”

“I go through a lot of paper.”

“You're just like me. And dad.”

She bends to rest her nose on the crown of his head and Rust gathers all her long hair to one side and kisses the back of her neck. She reaches back to cradle the back of his head for a moment and the warmth of it floods his heart, his eyes.

When he can see again, he takes the broom and starts sweeping up all the spilled flour while Audrey pats Jesse's back and hums.


End file.
